LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 


•  ERTRAND 
••ACRES  OF 


BY  WILLIAM   HENRY  DRUMMOND 

The  Habitant,  and  Other  French-Canadian 

Poems. 

The  Voyageur,  and  Other  Poems. 
Johnnie  Courteau,  and  Other  Poems. 
The  Great  Fight. 
Poetical  Works, 

G.  P    PUTNAM'S  SONS 


The  Poetical  Works 
of 

Vv  illiam  Henry  Drummond 


With  an  Introduction  by 
Louis  Frechette 

And  an  Appreciation  by 
Neil  Munro 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  and  London 
Gbe  Imfcfcerbocfter  press 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


These  poems,  in  a  different  arrangement  and  minus  certain  intro- 
ductory material  contained  in  the  present  volume,  were  published  and 
copyrighted  under  the  following  titles  as  below  specified :  The  Habitant, 
1897,  by  G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS;  Johnnie  Courteau,  1902,  by  WILLIAM 
HENRY  DRUMMOND;  The  Voyageur,  1905,  by  WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUM- 
MONO  ;  The  Great  Fight,  1908.  by  MAY  HARVEY  DRUMMOND. 


Fourth  Impression 


TTbe  fmfcfcerbocfeer  press,  -Rew  Sot* 


In  Memory  of  William  Henry  Drummond 


BY  S.  WEIR  MITCHELL,  M.D.,  LL.D. 

"DEACE  to  his  poet  soul.     Full  well  he  knew 

To  sing  for  those  who  know  not  how  to 
praise 

The  woodsman's  life,  the  farmer's  patient  toil, 
The  peaceful  drama  of  laborious  days. 

He  made  his  own  the  thoughts  of  simple  men, 
And  with  the  touch  that  makes  the  world  akin 
A  welcome  guest  of  lonely  cabin  homes, 
Found,  too,  no  heart  he  could  not  enter  in. 

The  toilworn  doctor,  women,  children,  men, 
The  humble  heroes  of  the  lumber  drives, 
Love,  laugh,  or  weep  along  his  peopled  verse, 
Blithe  'mid  the  pathos  of  their  meagre  lives. 

While  thus  the  poet-love  interpreted, 
He  left  us  pictures  no  one  may  forget — 
Courteau,  Batiste,  Camille  mon  fr£re  and  best, 
The  good  brave  cure",  he  of  Calumette. 


IN  MEMORIAM 

With  nature  as  with  man  at  home,  he  loved 
The  silent  forest  and  the  birches'  flight 
Down  the  white  peril  of  the  rapids'  rush, 
And  the  cold  glamour  of  your  Northern  night. 

Some  mystery  of  genius  haunts  his  page. 
Some  wonder  secret  of  the  poet's  spell 
Died  with  this  master  of  the  peasant  thought. 
Peace  to  your  Northland  singer,  and  farewell! 


IV 


William  Henry  Drummond 


name  of  Canada  to  me,  as  to  many  of 
my  race  and  age,  has  a  romantic  charm 
that  does  not  rise  from  any  great  historical  as- 
sociations, but  survives  from  early  youth,  the 
true  period  of  natural  magic,  of  unquestioning 
illusions,  when  great  men  and  great  deeds  have 
less  power  to  stir  the  imaginative  faculty  than 
a  hint,  in  some  trumpery  fiction,  of  wild,  free 
spaces  of  the  unspoiled  world.  Not  to  pre- 
natal glory  does  the  memory  of  youth  go  back, 
as  Wordsworth  thought;  not  to  some  Platonic 
Eden  where,  in  a  previous  incarnation  we  were 
as  angels  in  a  sinless  garden;  but  to  the  early, 
primitive,  and  essentially  mundane  valleys, 
plains,  and  hills  that  knew  the  toils  and  wander- 
ings of  our  ancestors.  It  is  the  unfenced,  un- 
inhabited, and  tractless  areas  our  subliminal 
memory  recalls;  the  lonely  morning  forest,  the 
shouting  cataract  with  no  name,  lakes  undis- 
covered, hunts  perilously  followed,  evening  fires 
with  their  ashes  deep  below  the  mould  of  cen- 
turies. No  savage  tribe  with  rude  camp  equi- 
page set  forth  at  dawn  from  the  sheltering  edge 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

of  pines,  pursuing  the  windings  of  the  river 
through  the  mist,  without,  in  some  sensitive 
heart,  a  pang  of  wonder  and  surmise  which  we  in 
our  blood  inherit.  We  have  all  come  from  the 
tribes,  trailing  no  clouds  of  glory,  but  still  with 
rags  of  zest  in  things  adventurous,  still  capable 
of  a  thrill  at  the  thought  of  phantoms  and  of 
dangers  now  no  longer  waiting  us  on  our  morning 
march  along  the  clean-swept  pavements  of  a 
thousand  cities. 

It  was  natural  that  Canada  should  evoke  the 
visionary  romance  of  our  youth  in  Scotland, 
for  yet  the  more  favoured  of  us  saw  surviv- 
ing scraps  of  that  ancient  unpossessed,  uncul- 
tivated, and  untamed  world  whereof  Scotland 
and  Canada  alike  were  parts.  In  both  lands 
Nature  wore  much  the  same  aspect;  clothing 
the  bluffs  with  pine,  the  plains  with  northern 
wild-flowers,  spilling  her  streams  down  preci- 
pices, filling  the  mountain  crevices  with  snow  or 
mist,  or  the  creeks  and  bays  with  the  same 
Atlantic  Ocean.  The  very  cold  of  Canada  in 
winter  helped  to  render  her  familiar — were  our 
happiest  hours  not  those  when  the  North  wind 
whistled  and  our  lakes  were  ice?  We  knew  that, 
with  the  frost,  to  men  came  grandeurs  of  endur- 
ance and  reserves  of  zest  incommunicable  to  the 
offspring  of  the  South. 

Then,  too,  only  a  tiny  period,  as  time  goes  in 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

History — less  than  two  hundred  years — sepa- 
rated us  in  our  Highland  life  from  many  of  the 
customs  of  the  Indian.  We  had  still — though 
hung  upon  the  wall — the  weapons  of  our  fore- 
fathers, and  our  fireside  tales  were  yet  of  native 
war-trails,  forays,  feuds,  old  passions,  and  alarms. 
Little  wonder  that  the  Red  River  settlers  from 
Sutherlandshire  found  the  aboriginals  less  strange 
and  inimical  than  the  whites,  or  that  the  great 
North- West  should  prove  so  hospitable  to  the 
Gaelic  winterers  from  Hudson's  Bay!  And  one 
last  feature  especially,  of  the  New  World  ren- 
dered it  more  alluring  ta  our  youth — our  folk 
were  there !  They  had  blazed  trails  and  builded 
nourishing  communities,  they  occupied  the  out- 
most forts  and  knew  the  land  from  sea  to  sea; 
they  had  given  their  names  to  the  mightiest 
rivers. 

I  have  been  through  Canada  at  a  time  when 
the  early  affections  for  things  unseen  and  enter- 
prises unexperienced  are  usually  worn  rather 
thin;  when  the  "radiance  that  was  once  so 
bright"  is  replaced  by 

a  sober  colouring  from  an  eye 

That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality, 

and  though  the  views  which  I  had  previously 

formed  of  the  country  and  its  life  had  necessarily 

to  undergo  some  process  of  readjustment,  I  am 

vii 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

happy  to  say  it  yet  retains  an  infinite  glamour 
and  romance.  For  the  preservation  of  this  fond 
illusion — as  the  realist  may  consider  it — I  owe 
much  to  the  good  fortune  of  knowing  one  man 
who,  after  living  nearly  all  his  life  in  Canada, 
had  not  discarded  a  single  jot  of  his  youthful 
vision  of  her  as  a  land  magnificent  and  romantic ; 
a  man  for  whom  the  Redskin  or  the  half-breed 
still  was  a  being  not  to  be  despised;  for  whom 
the  woodman,  the  trapper,  and  the  pioneer  were 
glorified  by  all  the  antique  circumstances  of 
their  lives.  The  forest  for  William  Henry 
Drummond,  as  for  me,  had  not  relinquished  any 
of  its  early  power  to  rouse  half -awed  expectancy, 
to  challenge,  to  allure.  A  Celt  in  every  artery 
of  his  being,  it  was  not  for  him,  as  it  never  was 
for  me,  by  fauns  and  fairies  that  the  thickets, 
glades,  or  verges  of  the  solitary  lakes  were  in- 
habited, but  by  the  creatures  of  his  boyish  wor- 
ship, by  Leather-Stocking  rather  than  the  dryads. 
No  alien  could  doubt  the  persistance  of  ro- 
mance in  Canada,  who  saw  the  joy  of  Drummond 
in  it,  his.  delight  in  the  very  things  that  thrilled 
in  the  books  of  youth ;  in  guides  and  voyageurs,  in 
camps,  and  portages,  and  canoes.  He  was  him- 
self a  sportsman,  and  the  woods  and  rivers, 
therefore,  had  a  fascination  for  another  portion 
of  his  nature,  but  rightly  or  wrongly,  I  fancy  his 
love  of  the  wilds  and  his  sense  of  kinship  with 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

the  courageous,  hardy,  and  enduring  men  he 
found  in  sporting  camps,  were  more  often  the 
attraction  of  the  Laurentian  lakes  and  woods 
than  the  fishing  and  the  shooting  to  be  got  there. 
It  was  not  in  Montreal  where  he  practised 
medicine  that  he  found  the  inspiration  of  his 
written  work;  poems  associated  with  the  life  of 
towns  and  cities  are  almost  wholly  absent  from 
his  books,  for  his  most  impressionable  years  had 
been  spent  elsewhere — in  Bord-a-Plouffe,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Riviere  des  Prairies,  at  Marbleton, 
and  Stornoway  near  Lake  Megantic.  From 
Ireland,  his  direct  heredity,  he  probably  took  no 
more  than  a  childish  memory  which  gave  a  tinge 
of  Celtic  pensiveness  to  his  later  years.  He  was 
born  near  Mohill,  County  Leitrim,  on  April  13, 
1854,  and  taken  by  his  parents  to  the  Dominion 
while  yet  a  boy.  At  Bord-a-Plouffe,  where  he 
worked  for  a  while  in  the  telegraph  service,  he 
was  in  a  great  centre  of  the  lumber  trade  and 
came  for  the  first  time  in  contact  with  the  habit- 
ant and  the  voyageur,  a  class  of  men  for  whom 
his  destiny  was  to  be  expositor.  Their  chansons 
gave  to  his  first  literary  essays  the  mould  and 
spirit  which  were  to  distinguish  the  greater  part 
of  his  poetical  work.  Later,  he  returned  to  study 
in  the  High  School,  passing  thence  to  McGill 
College  and  on  to  Bishop's  Medical  College, 
where  he  graduated  in  1884.  If  academic  prizes 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

went  for  athletic  feats,  the  Irishman  would  have 
achieved  the  highest  distinctions  n  his  college 
years,  but  in  truth  he  won  no  medals  save  on  the 
college  campus.  Of  such  are  good  doctors  made, 
and  often  poets  also !  His  first  medical  appoint- 
ment was  that  of  House  Surgeon  at  the  Montreal 
We:tern  Hospita1,  but  at  an  early  date  he  es- 
tablished a  physician's  practice  at  Stornoway, 
and  later  at  Knowlton,  where  the  mountains, 
glens,  woods,  and  lakes  of  Brome  ministered 
to  every  aspect  of  his  love  for  nature.  What 
was  the  character  of  his  duties  there  may  be 
gathered  from  his  pictures  of  "The  Canadian 
Country  Doctor"  and  "  Ole  Docteur  Fiset."  At 
the  end  of  four  years,  he  returned  to  practise  in 
Montreal,  and,  in  1894,  he  married  Miss  May 
Harvey,  a  lady  with  whom  he  became  acquainted 
while  she  and  her  father  were  on  a  visit  from  the 
West  Indies  to  the  Dominion. 

On  his  marriage  with  one  who  shared  his  own 
romantic  and  poetic  nature,  and  was,  further, 
dowered  with  the  finest  literary  sensibilities, 
Drummond's  muse,  aforetime  somewhat  shy  and 
fugitive,  assumed  more  confidence  and  zeal.  He 
was  already  known  in  Canada  and  throughout 
the  United  States  as  the  author  of  "The  Wreck 
of  the  'Julie  Plante,'"  a  poem  at  no  time  greatly 
valued  by  himself,  but  holding  some  essential 
charm  for  the  very  class  of  men  it  pictured,  no 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

indecisive  proof  that  a  poet  has  a  definite  call. 
He  had  written  other  poems  in  the  dialect  of  the 
French-Canadian  habitant,  hitherto  the  medium 
of  buffoonery  in  verse,  but  dignified  by  him  to 
graver  purposes,  and  his  own  recitation  of  these 
poems  at  occasional  public  gatherings  earned  for 
him  the  name  of  "Poet  of  the  Habitant"  before 
he  had  published  a  single  book. 

In  an  old  house  in  Mountain  Street,  Montreal, 
which  had  sheltered  Jefferson  Davis  during  the 
first  years  after  the  American  war,  the  poems 
for  Drummond's  first  book  were  written  rather 
for  domestic  entertainment  than  for  the' world, 
and  at  the  solicitation  of  his  wife  and  brothers, 
the  manuscript  of  "The  Habitant"  was  sent  to 
the  publishers  of  New  York.  Its  merits  were  dis- 
cerned by  the  Putnams,  and  the  book,  beautifully 
illustrated  by  Frederick  Simpson  Coburn,  whose 
drawings  marvellously  caught  the  atmosphere 
and  spirit  of  the  poems,  immediately  proved 
successful.  Drummond's  place  in  the  highest 
rank  of  North  American  bards  was  assured.  He 
was  hailed  by  the  Poet  Laureate  of  Canada, 
Louis  Frechette,  as  a  new  "pathfinder  in  the 
land  of  song,"  and  the  credentials  of  such  a 
French-Canadian  dispelled  all  fears  that  the 
fidelity  to  the  dialect,  portraiture,  and  foibles 
of  the  habitant  might  prove  unpleasant  to  the 
race  and  class  delineated. 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

In  truth,  the  work  had  no  fonder  admiration 
than  with  the  habitants  themselves.  They  found 
in  it  not  only  a  scrupulous  representation  of 
their  racial  life,  customs,  and  character,  but  the 
attitude  of  a  sympathetic  and  admiring  friend. 
A  man  of  the  tenderest  sentiment,  of  the  finest 
tact,  devoid  of  any  cankering  notion  of  superior- 
ity, he  never  wrote  a  line  but  in  affection,  and 
the  humour,  wit,  and  pathos  of  his  verses  carried 
the  irresistible  conviction  of  a  great  and  generous 
soul.  Of  ridicule  he  was  temperamentally  in- 
capable; on  the  human  weaknesses  of  his  charac- 
ters he  held  his  judgment  in  suspense;  he  gave 
to  Anglo-Saxon  Canadians  a  new  respect  for  their 
French  compatriots.  Till  then,  French-Cana- 
dian minstrelsy,  for  the  outside  world,  was 
represented  so  far  as  the  habitant  and  the  voya- 
geur  were  concerned,  by  academic  English  ren- 
derings of  the  old  chansons;  it  was  Drummond's 
place  to  make  the  living  habitant  and  voyageur 
articulate  in  the  patois  which  distinguished  them, 
and  yet  the  naivete  and  the  natural  magic  of  the 
old  regime,  of  "A  La  Claire  Fontaine"  and  "En 
Roulant  ma  Boule"  are  reproduced,  transfigured 
strangely,  in  the  language  of  the  modern  Canayen 
of  lumberers  and  peasants  of  to-day  as  Drum- 
mond  gave  them  voice  in  "Johnnie  Courteau" 
or  "The  Cure  of  Calumette." 

Drummond's  increasing  reputation  as  a  man 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

of  letters  in  no  way  affected  the  conscientious 
discharge  of  his  professional  work;  his  practice 
was  not  permitted  to  lose  his  unremitting  at- 
tention, however  far  his  imagination  might 
wander  or  however  briskly  his  pen  might  run  in 
his  scanty  leisure  hours  as  a  physician.  Rich 
and  poor  alike  among  his  patients  shared  his 
consideration,  and  it  is  related  of  him  that  on 
one  occasion,  when  two  calls  came  simulta- 
neously, one  from  a  wealthy  man,  and  the  other 
from  a  poor  carter  from  whom  a  fee  might 
scarcely  be  expected,  he  chose  to  attend  the 
latter  first,  saying  "The  rich  can  get  any  num- 
ber of  doctors,  but  poor  Pat  has  only  me." 
Mrs.  Drummond,  in  the  touching  biographical 
sketch  she  prefixes  to  his  posthumous  book  The 
Great  Fight,  says: 

"  Many  of  his  patients  declared  that  just  to  see 
Doctor  Drummond  did  them  good,  and  grumbled 
at  the  scarcity  of  his  visits,  but  he,  never  dream- 
ing that  he  had  anything  other  than  a  prescrip- 
tion to  bestow,  said:  'What  's  the  use  of  paying 
professional  visits  to  people  for  whom  I  can  do 
nothing  more?  I  might  just  as  well  steal  the 
money  out  of  their  pockets.'  On  the  other  hand, 
if  the  case  was  a  serious  one,  it  absorbed  him, 
and  his  attention  to  it  was  unremitting.  At 
such  times  he  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to 
take  proper  rest  or  food,  and  would  often  leave 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND    . 

the  dinner-table  to  search  his  book-shelves  for 
yet  another  authority  on  the  disease  he  was 
fighting ;  then  he  would  return  with  the  book  to 
the  table,  and  if  it  contained  what  he  sought, 
his  plate  would  be  pushed  aside,  and,  in  spite 
of  remonstrances  from  the  rest  of  us,  he  was  off 
and  away  to  his  'case'  once  more." 

For  several  years  he  occupied  the  chair  of 
Medical  Jurisprudence  in  his  Alma  Mater,  in 
which  position  he  earned  and  kept  the  affection 
and  confidence  of  students  and  professors  alike. 
In  1901  appeared  his  second  volume  of  poems, 
Johnnie  Courteau,  and  in  the  following  year  the 
University  of  Toronto  conferred  on  him  the 
degree  of  LL.D.  He  was  subsequently  elected 
Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Literature  of 
England,  and,  later,  one  of  the  Royal  Society 
of  Canada.  These  honours,  with  the  degree  of 
D.C.L.,  of  Bishop's  College,  Lennoxville,  sat  so 
lightly  on  him  that  I  confess  I  was  unaware  of 
them  till  his  death.  In  England  he  was  simply 
' '  Habitant  Drummond. ' ' 

It  was  in  the  year  last-mentioned  that  I  met 
him.  He  was  paying  his  first  visit  to  the  mother- 
land since  he  had  left  it  as  a  child,  and  Scotland 
was  included  in  his  itinerary.  A  man,  it  seemed 
to  me,  less  physically  suggestive  of  a  poet,  it  was 
difficult  to  conceive.  There  was  nothing  fragile 
about  the  build  of  William  Henry  Drummond — 


-  WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

a  massive  yet  athletic  figure  seemingly  endowed 
with  the  health  and  sinews  of  a  wrestler,  ema- 
nating airs  of  active  life  and  the  open  country; 
the  last  man  to  suspect  of  literary  vigils  and  of 
enervating  dalliance  with  the  sisters  of  the  sacred 
well.  And  yet  I  would  not  for  the  world  have 
had  him  otherwise.  The  poetry  of  Canada, 
particularly  the  poetry  of  the  voyageur,  should 
not,  in  common  decency,  be  made  by  delicate 
and  myopic  men ;  to  such,  indeed,  the  heart  and 
mystery  of  the  child  of  nature,  reticent  and  shy, 
are  rarely  to  be  revealed.  If  I  had  had  doubts — 
the  usual  journalistic  doubts — of  the  poet's  like- 
lihood to  express  the  lowly  life  of  Eastern  Cana- 
dian country  places  with  authority,  they  would 
have  been  immediately  dispelled,  for  here  was 
unmistakably  a  plain  man's  man  with  whom  it 
would  be  joyous  to  go  fishing.  I  put  him  to 
the  test  with  young  folk  at  that  period  full  of  the 
book  romance  of  Canada,  and  apt  to  think  the 
most  heroic  qualities  were  requisite  in  every  man 
with  his  badge  the  Maple  Leaf,  and  my  visitor 
came  grandly  up  to  the  most  fastidious  standard. 
For  them  he  clinched  the  matter — Canada  was 
genuine;  the  moose,  and  the  wapiti,  and  the  bear 
were  not  mere  beasts  of  myth  like  the  dragons  on 
our  coinage;  the  trapper  was  still  in  Ungava,  and 
the  red  canoe  was  yet  upon  the  waters.  To  a 
child  his  unsophistication  and  trustworthiness 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

were  instantly  apparent;  he  was  himself  an  un- 
spoiled and  eternal  boy ! 

I  incline  to  think  Drummond  was  never  a 
bookish  man;  at  all  events,  like  Wordsworth,  he 
was  certainly  no  bookworm ;  and  his  conversation 
having  rapturously  dealt  with  three  or  four 
modern  poets  who  were  at  the  time  his  deities, 
tangentially  escaped  as  soon  as  possible  into 
affairs  of  prose;  of  nature,  dogs,  and  angling; 
children,  weather,  travel,  politics,  and  nation- 
ality. He  was  plainly  the  kind  of  man  to  be 
fascinated  by  any  novel  phase  of  the  wild  and 
vagabondish  in  mankind ;  his  eye  was  ever  alert 
for  racial  idiosyncrasy.  I  went  with  him  on  a 
flying  visit  to  my  native  Highlands  of  Argyll; 
the  woods  of  Inveraray  roused  his  admiration, 
— I  see  him  still,  the  good  physician  Melampus, 
walk  under  the  hoary  oaks  of  Easachosain, — • 
but  it  was,  I  think,  by  gipsy  pipers,  shaggy,  wild 
rogues  and  ragged,  that  he  was  most  permanently 
impressed. 

It  was,  however,  especially  to  revisit  Ireland 
he  had  come  across  the  sea,  and  after  some  days 
in  Scotland  he  set  out  for  the  scenes  of  childhood. 
He  got  as  far  as  Dublin,  and  here,  as  I  have 
written  elsewhere,  something  came  to  him — an 
apprehension  possibly  of  the  fact  that  the  actual 
Ireland  was  not  the  Ireland  of  his  warm  imagina- 
tion, that  the  "first,  fine,  careless  rapture"  of  his 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

childhood  in  Leitrim  could  never  be  recaptured — • 
the  saddest  of  discoveries  for  middle  age.  He 
came  back  to  Glasgow  and  went  home  to  Canada 
without  accomplishing  the  purpose  that  had 
brought  him  three  thousand  miles. 

In  the  following  year,  I  brought  a  long  tour 
in  Canada  to  a  termination  with  a  week  in  the 
society  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Drummond,  in  the  at- 
tractive homes  of  his  brothers  George  and 
Thomas,  on  the  lake-bespangled  property  of  St. 
Bruno,  and  later  at  the  sporting  camp  of  the 
Laurentian  Club  on  Lac  La  Peche.  With  the  men 
and  women  of  that  holiday  community  among 
primeval  woods,  it  was  obvious  that  the  poet  was 
the  supreme  inspiring  friend  and  favourite,  high 
priest  of  revels,  councillor  and  high  grand  con- 
sultant upon  all  projects  and  contemplated 
exploits.  Not  even  the  old  "Commodore," 
Director  Parker,  had  more  potent  sway  with  the 
Laurentians.  The  French-Canadian  guides  and 
boatmen  were  on  the  most  affectionate  and  even 
playful  terms  with  "the  Doctor";  it  was  always 
he  who  could  most  easily  induce  them  to  indulge 
the  expectant  tenderfoot  with  song  or  dance. 
It  was  then  I  found  that  though  full  of  the 
lore  of  the  hunter,  Drummond  had  long  since 
lost  his  love  of  the  gun.  He  preferred  to  see 
the  creatures  of  the  wood  inviolate,  and  I  shall 
not  readily  forget  his  indignation  and  contempt 
xvii 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

for  anything  savouring  of  unsportsmanlike 
slaughter. 

In  1905,  Drummond  joined  his  brothers  in  the 
exploitation  of  new  mines  at  Cobalt,  northern 
Ontario,  and,  released  from  his  medical  work  in 
Montreal,  he  took  up  the  active  personal  super- 
intendence of  operations  which  were  by  no  means 
uncongenial  to  him,  since  they  were  pursued  in 
a  region  new  to  him,  of  magnificent  lakes  and 
forests.  The  fall  of  the  year  saw  the  publica- 
tion of  his  last  completed  work,  The  Voyageur, 
which  met  with  the  same  great  vogue  and  high 
eulogium  that  attended  its  predecessors.  It 
looked  as  if  in  worldly  prospects  and  in  literary 
fame  the  best  of  his  life  was  still  before  him, 
but  in  truth  life  smiled  but  to  deceive,  and 
the  end  came  as  narrated  in  the  memoir  of  his 
widow : 

"  It  had  been  his  intention  to  spend  Easter  Day 
of  1907  with  us  in  Montreal,  but  hearing  that 
smallpox  had  broken  out  in  the  camp  at  Cobalt, 
he  hurried  away  a  week  earlier.  The  night  of 
his  departure  from  Montreal  he  seemed  possessed 
by  a  strange  and  overwhelming  reluctance  to  go. 
'  I  don't  know  why  I  hate  to  go  away  so  much 
this  time/  he  said,  and  I,  thinking  that  his 
health  was  not  as  good  as  usual,  would  have  per- 
suaded him  to  stay  at  home,  but  no,  his  duty  lay 
there  with  the  sick  of  the  little  camp,  and  bidding 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND 

us  an  unusually  solemn  good-bye,  he  left  the 
home  he  was  never  more  to  enter.  It  was  just 
a  week  from  this  time  that  he  was  stricken  with 
cerebral  hemorrhage,  and  on  the  morning  of 
April  6th,  after  five  unconscious  days,  passed 
to  the  beyond." 

Drummond's  grave  on  the  side  of  Mount 
Royal  has  upon  its  stone  a  phrase  of  Moira 
O'Neill's  that  has  the  secret  of  his  wide  appeal 
and  his  endearment  to  the  readers  of  the  English- 
speaking  world : 

Youth  's  for  an  hour 
Beauty  's  a  flower, 
But  love  is  the  jewel  that  wins  the  world. 

Among  the  poets  of  the  British  Empire,  he 
holds  a  place  unique.  The  poetry  and  romance 
of  the  North  American  continent  have  found, 
in  one  form  or  another,  expression  in  the  works 
of  innumerable  modern  writers,  struck,  like  him, 
by  the  natural  grandeur  of  their  country,  the 
picturesque  side  of  the  struggle  by  which  men 
subdue  it  to  the  purposes  of  civilisation,  and  the 
gallantry  and  devotion  of  humble  lives.  But 

Fthe  laureates  of  camp-fire,  shack,  and  mine,  too 
generally  indulge  a  strident,  even  brutal,  note 
which  is  never  found  in  the  poems  of  Drummond 
as  collected  in  the  present  definitive  edition. 


WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND. 

Melampus  dwelt  upon  men:  physician  and  sage, 

He  served  them,  loving  them,  healing  them,  sick  or 

maimed, 
Or  them  that  frenzied  in  some  delirious  rage 

Outran  the  measure,  his  juice  of  the  woods  reclaimed. 
He  played  on  men,  as  his  master,  Phcebus,  on  strings 

Melodious:  as  the  God  did  he  strive  and  check, 
Through  love  exceeding  a  simple  love  of  the  things 

That  glide  in  the  grasses  and  rubble  of  woody  wreck. 

NEIL  MUNRO. 


Introduction 

/~\N  me  demande,  pour  ce  charmant  volume, 
un  mot  de  preface  en  francais;  le  voici: 
Quand,  en  1863,  je  publiai  mon  premier  recueil 
de  poesies — e*crites  au  college,  pour  la  plupart, 
— le  grand  poete  americain  Longfellow  eut  la 
flatteuse  bienveillance  de  m'appeler  The  path- 
finder of  a  new  land  of  song. 

Avec  mille  fois  plus  de  raison  puis-je  aujourd'- 
hui  passer  le  compliment  a  mon  sympathique 
confrere  et  ami,  1'auteur  de  ce  livre;  car,  si 
jamais  quelqu'un,  chez  nous,  a  me"rite  le  titre  de 
pathfinder  of  a  new  land  of  song,  c'est  assurement 
lui. 

Non  seulement  il  a  de"couvert  le  champ,  la 
clairiere,  la  vallee  fertile  et  encore  inexploree; 
il  en  a  fait  1' exploitation  a  sa  maniere,  avec  des 
outils  et  des  moyens  de  son  invention;  et,  fier 
'de  sa  conque'te,  il  laisse,  de  son  e"paule  robuste, 
tomber  a  nos  pieds  le  fruit  de  son  travail,  la 
gerbe  plantureuse  aux  ors  vierges,  a  1'arome 
sauvage,  aux  savoureuses  promesses,  toute 
fraiche  et  toute  crissante  dans  sa  rusticite*  saine. 

N'est-elle  pas,  en  effet,  d'une  originalite"  peu 


INTRODUCTION 

commune,  1'idee  de  prendre  un  pauvre  illettre", 
de  le  presenter  comme  un  type  national  a  part, 
de  lui  mettre  aux  levres  une  langue  qui  n'est 
pas  la  sienne  et  qu'il  ne  connait  qu'  a  demi; 
d'en  faire  en  meTne  temps  un  personnage  bon, 
doux,  aimable,  honnete,  intelligent  et  droit, 
1'esprit  en  eveil,  le  cceur  plein  d'une  poesie  native 
stimulant  son  patriotisme,  jetant  un  rayon  lumin- 
eux  dans  son  modeste  interieur,  bergant  sesheures 
reveuses  de  souvenirs  lointains  et  melancoliques  ? 

Et  cela  sans  que  jamais,  dans  ce  portrait  d'un 
nouveau  genre,  le  plus  subtil  des  critiques 
puisse  surprendre  nulle  part  le  coup  de  crayon 
de  la  caricature! 

Dans  ses  inimitables  contes  villageois,  George 
Sand  a  peint  les  pay  sans  du  Berry  sous  des  de- 
hors  tr£s  interessants.  Elle  nous  les  montre 
me'me  d'un  sentiment  tres  affine  dans  leur  sim- 
plicite  naive  et  leur  cordiale  bonhomie.  En 
somme,  elle  en  fait  des  natures,  des  tempera- 
ments, quelque  chose  de  typique,  en  me'me 
temps  qu'  harmonieux  de  teinte  et  de  forme. 

Mais  George  Sand  faisait  parler  ses  person- 
nages  dans  la  langue  du  pays,  dans  la  langue  de 
la  chaumiere,  dans  leur  propre  dialecte,  enfin. 
Elle  n'avait,  pour  ainsi  dire,  qu'  a  faire  penetrer 
le  souffle  de  son  talent  sous  le  reseau  de  la 
phrase,  pour  animer  celle-ci  d'un  reflet  de  ly- 
risme  ou  d'une  vibration  attendrie. 


INTRODUCTION 

La  tache  abordee  par  M.  Drummond  presen- 
tait  un  caractere  beaucoup  plus  difficile. 

Ici,  le  poete  avait  bien,  il  est  vrai,  le  milieu  a 
saisir,  place,  droit  en  face  de  son  objectif.  II 
e"tait  assez  familier  avec  ses  acteurs  pour  les 
grouper  avantageusement,  en  menageant  les 
effets  d'ombres  et  de  lumiere.  II  est  naturelle- 
ment  assez  artiste  pour  ne  rien  negliger  de  ce 
qui  ajoute  du  pittoresque  a  la  pose;  surtout, 
il  connaissait  a  fond  le  type  a  reproduire,  ses 
moeurs,  ses  passions,  ses  sentiments,  ses  pen- 
chants, ses  superstitions  et  ses  faiblesses. 

Mais  comment,  sans  tomber  dans  la  charge 
ou  la  bouffonnerie,  faire  parler  syste'matique- 
ment  a  ses  personnages  une  langue  e*trangere, 
forcement  incorrecte  dans  la  bouche  de  quel- 
qu'un  qui  1'a  apprise  par  oreille,  sans  savoir  lire 
meme  dans  sa  propre  langue? 

La  tentative  etait  hardie;  mais  on  sait  que 
le  succes  a  un  faible  pour  les  audacieux. 

Dans  son  e"tude  des  Canadiens-francais,  M. 
Drummond  a  trouve"  le  moyen  d'eviter  un 
e"cueil  qui  aurait  semble"  inevitable  pour  tout 
autre  que  pour  lui.  II  est  reste"  vrai,  sans  tom- 
ber dans  la  vulgarite",  et  piquant  sans  verser 
dans  le  grotesque. 

Qu'il  mette  en  scene  le  gros  fermier  fier  de 
son  bien  ou  de  ses  filles  a  marier,  le  vieux  me"- 
decin  de  campagne  ne  comptant  plus  ses  e"tats 


INTRODUCTION 

de  service,  le  jeune  amoureux  qui  r£ve  au  clair 
de  la  lune,  le  vieillard  qui  repasse  en  sa  me'- 
moire  la  longue  suite  des  jours  reVolus,  le 
conteur  de  legendes,  1'aventurier  des  "pays 
d'en  haut,"  et  merne  le  Canadien  exile — le 
Canadien  errant,  comrne  dit  la  chanson  popu- 
laire — qui  croit  toujours  entendre  resonner  a 
son  oreille  le  vague  tintement  des  cloches  de 
son  village;  que  le  recit  soit  plaisant  ou  pathe- 
tique,  jamais  la  note  ne  sonne  faux,  jamais  la 
bizarrerie  ne  degenere  en  puerilite  burlesque. 

C'est  la  un  tour  de  force  comme  il  ne  s'en  fait 
pas  souvent,  et  c'est  avec  enthousiasme  que  je 
tends  la  main  a  M.  Drummond  pour  le  feliciter 
de  1'avon  accompli. 

II  a  veritablement  fait  la  oeuvre  de  poete  et 
d'artiste. 

J'ajouterai  qu'il  a  fait  aussi  ceuvre  de  bon 
citoyen.  Car  le  jour  sous  lequel  il  presente  mes 
compatriotes  illettres  ne  peut  manquer  de  valoir 
a  ceux-ci — et  partant  a  tout  le  reste  de  la  na- 
tionalite — un  accroissement  desirable  dans  res- 
time  de  nos  compatriotes  de  langue  anglaise, ' 
qui  n'ont  pas  e"te*  a  meme  de  les  e*tudier  d'aussi 
pres  que  M.  Drummond. 

La  peinture  qu'en  fait  le  poete  est  on  ne  peut 
plus  sympathique  et  juste;  et  de  semblables 
precedes  ne  peuvent  que  cimenter  1'union  de 
cceur  et  n'esprit  qui  doit  exister  entre  toutes 


INTRODUCTION 

les  fractions  qui  composent  la  grande  famille 
canadienne  appelee  a  vivre  et  a  prospe*rer  sous 
la  meme  loi  et  le  m£me  drapeau. 

En  lisant  les  vers  de  M.  Drummond,  le  Ca- 
nadien-franc.ais  sent  que  c'est  la  1'expression 
d'une  ame  amie ;  et,  a  ce  compte,  je  dois  & 
1'auteur  plus  que  mes  bravos,  je  lui  dois  en 
me' me  temps  un  chaleureux  merci. 

Louis  FRECHETTE. 
MONTREAL,  13  octobre  1897. 


Preface 

TN  presenting  to  the  public  "The  Habitant, 
and  other  French-Canadian  Poems,"  I  feel 
that  my  friends  who  are  already,  more  or  less, 
familiar  with  the  work,  understand  that  I  have 
not  written  the  verses  as  examples  of  a  dialect, 
or  with  any  thought  of  ridicule. 

Having  lived,  practically,  all  my  life,  side  by 
side  with  the  French-Canadian  people,  I  have 
grown  to  admire  and  love  them,  and  I  have  felt 
that  while  many  of  the  English-speaking  public 
know  perhaps  as  well  as  myself  the  French- 
Canadian  of  the  cities,  yet  they  have  had  little 
opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  the 
habitant,  therefore  I  have  endeavored  to  paint 
a  few  types,  and  in  doing  this,  it  has  seemed 
to  me  that  I  could  best  attain  the  object  in 
view  by  having  my  friends  tell  their  own  tales 
in  their  own  way,  as  they  would  relate  them 
to  English-speaking  auditors  not  conversant 
with  the  French  tongue. 

My  good  friend,  Dr.  Louis  Frechette,  Poet 
Laureate,  has,  as  a  French-Canadian,  kindly 
written  an  "Introductory"  in  his  own  graceful 


PREFACE 

language,  and  I  have  to  thank  him  above  all 
for  his  recognition  of  the  spirit  which  has  actu- 
ated me  in  writing  "dialect"  verse. 

WILLIAM  HENRY  DRUMMOND. 
MONTREAL,  September,  1897. 


Contents 


PAGB 

THE  HABITANT i 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  "  JULIE  PLANTE" — A  LEGEND 

OF  LAC  ST.  PIERRE 7 

LE  VIEUX  TEMPS          ......  9 

"DE  PAPINEAU  GUN" — AN  INCIDENT  OF  THE 

CANADIAN  REBELLION  OF  1837  .  .  .18 

How  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 21 

DE  NICE  LEETLE  CANADIENNE  ...  30 

TOLEON  DOR£ — A  TALE  OF  THE  SAINT  MAURICE  .  32 

DE  NOTAIRE  PUBLIQUE 39 

A  CANADIAN  VOYAGEUR'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  NILE 

EXPEDITION — "MAXIME  LABELLE"          .         .  42 

MEMORIES           .......  49 

PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU — A  STORY  OF  THE  "CHASSE 

GALLERIE"  .......  52 

DE  BELL  OF  SAINT  MICHEL 63 

PELANG      ........  65 

MON  CHOUAL  "CASTOR" 70 

OLE  TAM  ON  BORD-A  PLOUFFE       ....  75 

THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 80 

M'SIEU  SMIT,  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  AN  ENGLISH- 
MAN IN  THE  CANADIAN  WOODS                           .  82 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

WHEN  ALBANI  SANG     .         ...         .         .         .91 

DE  CAMPONDE  "CHEVALGRIS"    ....      98 

DE  STOVE  PIPE  HOLE 104 

"DE  SNOWBIRD"          .         .         .         .         .         .no 

THE  HABITANT'S  JUBILEE  ODE      .         .         .         .113 

OLE  DOCTEUR  FISET     .         .  •       .         .         .         .118 

JOHNNIE  COURTEAU     .         .         .         .         .         .122 

THE  CORDUROY  ROAD  .         .  •  .         .         .125 

THE  CURE  OF  CALUMETTE    .         .         .         .  131 

THE  OYSTER  SCHOONER 137 

MY  LEETLE  CABANE 140 

BATEESE  THE  LUCKY  MAN 144 

THE  HILL  OF  ST.  SEBASTIEN.         .«.      .         .         .145 

MARIE  LOUISE     .         .         .         .         .         .         .     149 

THE  OLD  HOUSE  AND  THE  NEW     .         .         .         .153 

THE  CANADIAN  COUNTRY  DOCTOR          .         .         .158 
MON  FRERE  CAMILLE  .         .         .         .         .162 

THE  HABITANT'S  SUMMER     .         .         .         .         .168 

LITTLE  LAC  GRENIER — (GREN-YAY)       .         .         .174 

THE  WINDIGO 177 

NATIONAL  POLICY 187 

AUTUMN  DAYS     .         .         .         .         .         .         .190 

MADELEINE  VERCHERES        .         .         .         .         .192 

THE  "ROSE  DELIMA"  ......     199 

LITTLE  MOUSE 210 

STRATHCONA'S  HORSE  .         .         .         .         .         .212 

JOHNNIE'S  FIRST  MOOSE       .         .         .         .         .214 

THE  OLD  PINE  TREE 218 

XXX 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

LITTLE  BATEESE           ......  220 

DONAL'  CAMPBELL       ......  222 

THE  DUBLIN  FUSILIER         ' 225 

DREAMS 229 

'THE  OLD  SEXTON         .         .         .         .         .         .231 

CHILD    THOUGHTS — WRITTEN    TO    COMMEMORATE 
THE    ANNIVERSARY    OF    MY    BROTHER    TOM'S 

BIRTHDAY 235 

BATEESE  AND  HIS  LITTLE  DECOYS          .         .         .  237 

PHIL-O-RUM'S  CANOE 242 

THE  LOG  JAM 246 

THE  CANADIAN  MAGPIE 252 

THE  RED  CANOE 255 

Two  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO            ....  256 

THE  VOYAGEUR 259 

BRUNO  THE  HUNTER    ......  262 

PRIDE 265 

DlEUDONNE  (GOD-GlVEN) 272 

-THE  DEVIL 273 

THE  FAMILY  LARAMIE 281 

YANKEE  FAMILIES        ......  282 

THE  LAST  PORTAGE 286 

GETTING  ON 288 

PIONEERS 292 

NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY 297 

CHAMPLAIN 300 

PRO  PATRIA 305 

GETTING  STOUT 310 

DOCTOR  HILAIRE 313 

xxxi 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

BARBOTTE  (BULL-POUT) 320 

THE  ROSSIGNOL  .         .         .         .         .         .         .322 

MEB-BE      ........  325 

SNUBBING  (TYING- UP)  THE  RAFT  .        .        .         .325 

A  RAINY  DAY  IN  CAMP 332 

JOSETTE 335 

JOE  BOUCHER 337 

CHARMETTE 340 

LAC  Souci 342 

POIRIER'S  ROOSTER 345 

DOMINIQUE          .......  349 

HOME 352 

CANADIAN  FOREVER 355 

TWINS 357 

KEEP  OUT  OF  THE  WEEDS     .....  359 

THE  HOLY  ISLAND        ......  362 

THE  RIVIERE  DES  PRAIRIES 367 

THE  WIND  THAT  LIFTS  THE  FOG    .         .         .         .372 

THE  Fox  HUNT .  374 

THE  GREAT  FIGHT 379 

VICTORIA  SQUARE — AN  IDYLL        ....  384 

MARRIAGE  ........  387 

WE  'RE  IRISH  YET       ......  392 

CHIBOUGAMOU     .......  394 

THE  FIRST  ROBIN 401 

BLOOM — A  SONG  OF  COBALT.         ....  406 

THE  BOY  FROM  CALABOGIE  .....  407 

THE  CALCITE  VEIN — A  TALE  OF  COBALT          .         .  409 

xxxii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PIERRE  LEBLANC 413 

SILVER  LAKE  CAMP 418 

THE  TALE  OF  A  COCKTAIL 419 

THE  LAND  WE  LIVE  IN  AND  THE  LAND  WE  LEFT          .  422 

DEER-HUNTING — (BY  AN  EXPERT)          .         .         .  423 
"HE  ONLY  WORE  A  SHAMROCK"  .         .         .         .425 

THE  GODBOUT 427 

DOONSIDE 430 

THE  SPANISH  BIRD 43 1 

BOULE 432 

CAUDA  MORRHUAE 437 


XXX111 


Remember  when  these  tales  you  read 
Of  rude  but  honest  "Canayen," 
That  Joliet,  La  Verandrye, 
La  Salle,  Marquette,  and  Hennepin 
Were  all  true  "Canayen"  themselves — 
And  in  their  veins  the  same  red  stream: 
The  conquering  blood  of  Normandie 
Flowed  strong,  and  gave  America 
Coureurs  de  bois  and  voyageurs 
'Whose  trail  extends  from  sea  to  sea! 


The  Habitant    * 

T~^\E  place  I  get  born,  me,  is  up  on  de  reever 
Near  foot  of  de  rapide  dat  's  call  Cheval 

Blanc 
Beeg  mountain  behin'   it,    so   high   you   can't 

climb  it 

An'   whole  place  she  's  mebbe  two  honder 
arpent. 


De  fader  of  me,  he  was  habitant  farmer, 

Ma  gran'  fader  too,  an'  hees  fader  also, 
Dey    don't    mak'    no   monee,    but   dat   is   n't 

fonny 

For  it  's  not  easy  get  ev'ryt'ing,  you  mus' 
know — 

All  de  sam'  dere  is  somet'ing  dey  got  ev'ry- 

boddy, 
Dat  's  plaintee  good   healt',  wat  de  monee 

can't  geev, 
So  I  'm  workin'  away  dere,  an'  happy  for  stay 

dere 
On  farm  by  de  reever,  so  long  I  was  leev. 


THE  HABITANT 

O !  dat  was  de  place  w'en  de  spring  tarn  she  's 

comin', 

W'en  snow  go  away,  an'  de  sky  is  all  blue — • 
W'en  ice  lef '  de  water,  an'  sun  is  get  hotter 
An'    back   on   de   medder  is    sing    de    gou- 
glou — 

W'en   small   sheep   is  firs'   comin'   out   on   de 

pasture, 

Deir  nice  leetle  tail  stickin'  up  on  deir  back, 
Dey  ronne  wit'  deir  moder,  an'  play  wit'  each 

oder 

An'  jomp  all  de  tarn  jus'  de  sam'  dey  was 
crack — 


An'  ole  cow  also,  she  's  glad  winter  is  over, 
So  she  kick  herse'f  up,  an'  start  off  on  de 

race 
Wit'  de  two-year-ole  heifer,  dat  's  purty  soon 

lef  her, 
W'y  ev'ryt'ing  's  crazee  all  over  de  place! 

An'  down  on  de  reever  de  wiT  duck  is  quackin' 
Along  by  de  shore  leetle  san'  piper  ronne — • 

De  bullfrog  he  's  gr-rompin'  an'  dore  is  jompin' 
Dey  all  got  deir  own  way  for  mak'  it  de 
fonne. 


THE  HABITANT 

But  spring  's  in  beeg  hurry,  an'  don't  stay  long 

wit'  us 
An'  firs'  t'ing  we  know,  she  go  off  till  nex' 

year,' 
Den  bee  commence  hummin',   for  summer  is 

comin' 
An'  purty  soon  corn  's  gettin'  ripe  on  de  ear. 

Dat   's    very    nice    tarn    for    wake  up   on   de 
morning 

An'  lissen  de  rossignol  sing  ev'ry  place, 
Feel  sout'  win'  a-blowin',  see  clover  a-growin', 

An'  all  de  worl'  laughin'  itself  on  de  face. 

Mos'  ev'ry  day  raf  it  is  pass  on  de  rapide 
De  voyageurs  singin'  some  ole  chanson 
'Bout  girl  down  de  reever — too  bad  dey  mus' 

leave  her, 
But  comin'  back  soon'  wit'  beaucoup  d'argent. 

An'  den  w'en  de  fall  an'  de  winter  come  roun 

us 

An'  bird  of  de  summer  is  all  fly  away, 
W'en  mebbe  she  's  snowin'   an'   nort'   win'  is 

blowin' 

An'   night  is  mos'   t'ree  tam   so  long    as   de 
day. 

3 


THE  HABITANT 

You  t'ink  it  was  bodder  de  habitant  farmer? 

Not  at  all — he  is  happy  an'  feel  satisfy, 
An'  cole  may  las'  good  w'ile,  so  long  as  de  wood- 
pile 

Is  ready  for  burn  on  de  stove  by  an'  bye. 

Wen  I  got  plaintee  hay  put  away  on  de  stable 
So  de  sheep  an'  de  cow,  dey  got  no  chance  to 

freeze, 
An'    de    hen   all   togedder — I    don't    min'   de 

wedder — 

De  nort'  win'  may  blow  jus'  so  moche  as  she 
please. 

An'  some  cole  winter  night  how  I  wish  you  can 

see  us, 
Wen  I  smoke  on  de  pipe,  an'  de  ole  woman 

sew 
By  de  stove  of  T'ree  Reever — ma  wife's  fader 

geev  her 
On  day  we  get  marry,  dat  's  long  tarn  ago — 

De  boy  an'  de  girl,  dey  was  readhi'  it's  lesson, 

De  cat  on  de  corner  she  's  bite  heem  de  pup, 
Ole  "Carleau"  he's  snorin'  an'  beeg  stove  is 

roarin' 

So  loud  dat  I  'm  scare  purty  soon  she  bus'  up. 
4 


THE  HABITANT 

Philomene — dat  's  de  oldes' — is  sit  on  de  winder 
An'  kip  jus'  so  quiet  lak  wan  leetle  mouse, 

She  say  de  more  finer  moon  never  was  shiner — 
Very  fonny,  for  moon  is  n't  dat  side  de  house. 

But  purty  soon  den,  we  hear  foot  on  de  outside, 
An'  some  wan  is  place  it  hees  han'  on  de  latch, 

Dat  's  Isidore  Goulay,  las'  fall  on  de  Brule* 
He  's  tak'  it  firs'  prize  on  de  grand  ploughin* 
match. 

Ha!  ha!  Philomene! — dat  was  smart  trick  you 

play  us 
Come  help  de  young  feller  tak'  snow  from 

hees  neck, 

Dere  's  not'ing  for  hinder  you  come  off  de  winder 
Wen   moon   you   was   look   for   is   come,    I 
expec' — 

Isidore,  he  is  tole  us  de  news  on  de  parish 

'Bout  hees  Lajeunesse  Colt — travel  two  forty, 

sure, 
'Bout    Jeremie    Choquette,    come    back    from 

Woonsocket 

An'  t'ree  new  leetle  twin  on  Madame  Vail 
lancour'. 

But  nine  o'clock  strike,  an'  de  chil'ren  is  sleepy, 
Mese'f  an'  ole  woman  can't  stay  up  no  more 
5 


THE  HABITANT 

So  alone  by  de  fire — 'cos  dey  say  dey  ain't  tire — « 
We  lef  Philomene  an'  de  young  Isidore. 

I  s'pose  dey  be  talkin'  beeg  lot  on  de  kitchen 
'Bout  all  de  nice  moon  dey  was  see  on  de  sky, 

For  Philomene  's  takin'  long  tarn  get  awaken 
Nex'  day,  she  's  so  sleepy  on  bote  of  de  eye. 

Dat  's   wan  of  dem  ting's,    ev'ry   tarn   on   de 

fashion, 

An'  'bout  nices'  t'ing  dat  was  never  be  seen. 
Got  not'ing  for  say  me — I  spark  it  sam'  v.  ay 

me 
Wen  I  go  see  de  moder  ma  girl  Philomene. 

We  leev  very  quiet  'way  back  on  de  contree 
Don't  put  on  sam  style  lak  de  big  village, 
W'en  we  don't  get  de  monee  you  t'ink  dat  is 

fonny 

An'  mak'  plaintee  sport  on  de  Bottes  Sau- 
vages. 

But  I  tole  you — dat 's  true — I  don't  go  on  de 

city 
If    you    geev    de    fine    house    an'    beaucoup 

d' argent — 

I  rader  be  stay  me,  an'  spen'  de  las'  day  me 
On   farm   by   de   rapide    dat  's    call    Cheval 
Blanc. 

6 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  "  JULIE  PLANTE" 

The  Wreck    of   the    "Julie    Plants"— A 
Legend  of  Lac  St.  Pierre 

N  wan  dark  night  on  Lac  St.  Pierre, 

De  win'  she  blow,  blow,  blow, 
An'  de  crew  of  de  wood  scow  "Julie  Plante" 

Got  scar't  an'  run  below — 
For  de  win'  she  blow  lak  hurricane 

Bimeby  she  blow  some  more, 
An'  de  scow  bus'  up  on  Lac  St.  Pierre 
Wan  arpent  from  de  shore. 

De  captinne  walk  on  de  fronte  deck, 

An'  walk  de  hin'  deck  too — 
He  call  de  crew  from  up  de  hole 

He  call  de  cook  also. 
De  cook  she  's  name  was  Rosie, 

She  come  from  Montreal, 
Was  chambre  maid  on  lumber  barge, 

On  de  Grande  Lachine  Canal. 

De  win'  she  blow  from  nor'-eas'-wes,' — 

De  sout'  win'  she  blow  too, 
W'en  Rosie  cry  "Mon  cher  captinne, 

Mon  cher,  w'at  I  shall  do?" 
Den  de  Captinne  t'row  de  big  ankerre, 

But  still  the  scow  she  dreef, 
De  crew  he  can't  pass  on  de  shore, 

Becos'  he  los'  hees  skeef. 
7 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  "  JULIE  PLANTE  '•' 

De  night  was  dark  lak'  wan  black  cat, 

De  wave  run  high  an'  fas', 
Wen  de  captinne  tak'  de  Rosie  girl 

An'  tie  her  to  de  mas'. 
Den  he  also  tak'  de  life  preserve, 

An'  jomp  off  on  de  lak', 
An'  say,  "Good-bye,  ma  Rosie  dear, 

I  go  drown  for  your  sak'. " 

Nex'  morning  very  early 

'Bout  ha'f-pas'  two — t'ree — four — 
De  captinne — scow — an'  de  poor  Rosie 

Was  corpses  on  de  shore, 
Fqr  de  win'  she  blow  lak'  hurricane 

Bimeby  she  blow  some  more, 
An'  de  scow  bus'  up  on  Lac  St.  Pierre, 

Wan  arpent  from  de  shore. 


MORAL 

Now  all  good  wood  scow  sailor  man 

Tak'  warning  by  dat  storm 
An'  go  an'  marry  some  nice  French  girl 

An'  leev  on  wan  beeg  farm. 
De  win'  can  blow  lak'  hurricane 

An'  s'pose  she  blow  some  more, 
You  can't  get  drown  on  Lac  St.  Pierre 

So  long  you  stay  on  shore. 
8 


LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

Le   Vieux  Temps 

ici,  mon  cher  ami,  an'  sit  down  by 
me — so 

An'  I  will  tole  you  story  of  old  tarn  long  ago — 
Wen  ev'ryt'ing  is   happy — w'en  all  de   bird  is 

sing 

An'  me! — I  'm  young  an'  strong  lak  moose  an' 
not  afraid  no  t'ing. 


I  close  my  eye  jus'  so,  an'  see  de  place  w'ere, 

I  am  born — 

I  close  my  ear  an'  lissen  to  musique  of  de  horn,, 
Dat  's  horn  ma  dear  ole  moder  blow — an  only 

t'ing  she  play 
Is    "viens    done    vite    Napoleon — 'peche    tot 

pour  votre  souper. " — 


An'    w'en   he 's    hear   dat    nice   musique — ma 

ieetle  dog  "Carleau" 
Is   place   hees   tail   upon   hees   back — an'    den 

he  's  let  heem  go — 
He  's   jomp    on    fence — he  's   swimmin'    crik — 

he  's  ronne  two  forty  gait, 
He  say  "dat  's  somet'ing  good   for  eat — Car- 

leau  mus'  not  be  late. " 


LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

O  dem  was  pleasure  day  for  sure,  dem  day  of 

long  ago 
Wen  I  was  play  wit'  all  de  boy,  an'  all  de  girl 

also; 
An'  many  tarn  w'en  I  'm  alone  an'  t'ink  of  day 

gone  by 
An'  pull  latire  an'  spark  de  girl,  I  cry  upon  my 

eye. 


Ma  fader  an'   ma  moder  too,   got  nice,   nice 

familee, 
Dat  's  ten  garcon  an'  t'orteen  girl,  was  mak'  it 

twenty,  t'ree 
But  fonny  t'ing  de   Gouvernement  don't  geev 

de  firs'  prize  den 
Lak  w'at  dey  say  dey  geev   it  now,  for  only 

wan  douzaine. 


De    English   peep   dat   only   got   wan   familee 

small  size 
Mus'  be  feel  glad  dat  tarn  dere  is  no  honder 

acre  prize 
For   fader   of   twelve   chil'ren — dey   know   dat 

mus'  be  so, 
De     Canayens     would     boss     Kebeck — mebbe 

Ontario. 

10 


LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

But  dat  is  not  de  story  dat  I  was  gone  tole 

you 
About  de  fun  we  use  to  have  w'en  we  leev  a 

chez  nous 
We  're  never  lonesome  on  dat  house,  for  many 

cavalier 
Come  at  our  place  mos'  every  night — especially 

Sun-day. 


But  tarn   I   'member  bes'  is  w'en  I  'm  twenty 

wan  year — me — 
An'  so  for  mak'  some  pleasurement — we  geev 

wan  large  soiree 
De  whole  paroisse  she  be  invite — de  Cure"  he  's 

come  too — 
Wit    plaintee   peep    from    'noder   place — dat 's 

more  I  can  tole  you. 


De  night   she  's   cole   an'   freeze  also,    chemin 

she  's  fill  wit  snow 
An'  on  de  chimley  lak  phantome,  de  win'  is 

mak'  it  blow — 
But  boy  an'  girl  come  all  de  sam  an'  pass  on 

grande  parloir 
For  warm  itself  on  beeg  box  stove,  was  mak' 

on  Trois  Rivieres — 


LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

An'    w'en    Bonhomme    Latour    commence    for 

tune  up  hees  fidelle 
It  mak'  us  all  feel  very  glad — 1'  enfant!  he  play 

so  well, 
Musique  suppose  to  be  firs'  class,  I  offen  hear, 

for  sure 
But    mos'  bes'  man,  beat   all    de    res',  is    ole 

Bateese  Latour — 


An'  w'en  Bateese  play  Irish  jeeg,  he  's  learn 

on  Mattawa 
Dat  tarn  he  's  head  boss  cook  Shaintee — den. 

leetle  Joe  Leblanc 
Tak'   hole  de   beeg   Marie  Juneau    an'    dance 

upon  de  floor 
Till  Marie  say  "Excuse  to  me,  I  cannot  dance 

no  more." — 


An'  den  de  Cure  's  mak'  de  speech — ole  Cure 

Ladouceur! 
He  say  de  girl  was  spark  de  boy  too  much  on 

some  cornerre — 
An'  so  he  's  tole  Bateese  play  up  ole  fashion 

reel  a   quatre 
An'  every  body  she  mus'  dance,  dey  can't  get 

off  on  dat. 

12 


\ 

LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

Away    she    go — hooraw!     hooraw!    plus    fort 

Bateese,   mon  vieux 
Camille  Bisson,  please  watch  your  girl — dat  's 

bes'  t'ing  you  can  do. 
Pass  on  de  right  an'  tak'  your  place  Mamzelle 

Des  Trois  Maisons 
You  're  s'pose  for  dance  on  Paul  Laberge,  not 

Telesphore  Gagnon. 


Mon  oncle  Al-fred,  he  spik  lak'  dat — 'cos  he  is 

boss  de  floor, 
An'  so  we  do  our  possibill  an'  den  commence 

encore. 
Dem  crowd  of  boy  an'  girl  I  'm  sure  keep  up 

until  nex'  day 
If  ole  Bateese  don't  stop  heseff,  he  come  so 

fatigue*. 


An'  affer  dat,  we   eat  some  t'ing,  tak'  leetle 

drink    also 
An'  de   Cure",   he  's  tole  story  of  many  year 

ago— 
Wen  Iroquois  sauvage  she  's  keel  de  Canayens 

an'  steal  deir  hair, 
An'  say  dat 's  only  for  Bon  Dievt,  we  don't  be 

here — he  don't  be  dere. 
13 


LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

But  dat  was  mak'  de  girl  feel  scare — so  all  de 

cavalier 
Was  ax  hees  girl  go  home  right  off,  an'  place 

her  on  de  sleigh, 
An'  w'en  dey  start,  de   Cure  say,  "Bonsoir  et 

bon  voyage 
Menagez-vous — tak'      care      for     you — prenez 

garde  pour  les  sauvages. " 


An'   den   I  go  meseff  also,   an'  tak'  ma  belle 

Elmire — 
She  's  nicer  girl  on  whole  Comte,  an'  jus'  got 

eighteen  year — 
Black  hair — black  eye,  an'  chick  rosee  dat  's  lak 

wan  fameuse  on  de  fall 
But  do  n't  spik  much — not  of  dat  kin',  I  can't 

say  she  love  me  at  all. 


Ma  girl — she  's  fader  beeg  farmeur — leev  'noder 

side  St.  Flore 
Got    five-six    honder    acre — mebbe     a    leetle 

more — 
Nice  sugar  bush — une  belle  maison — de  bes'  I 

never  see — 
So  w'en  I  go  for  spark  Elmire,  I  don't  be  mak' 

de  foolish  me — 

14 


LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

Elmire ! — she  's  pass  t  'ree  year  on  school — Ste. 

Anne  de  la  Perade 
An'  w'en  she  's  tak'  de  firs'  class  prize,  dat  's 

mak'  de  ole  man  glad; 
He  say  "Ba  gosh — ma  girl  can  wash — can  keep 

de  kitchen  clean 
Den  change  her  dress — mak'  politesse  before 

God  save  de  Queen. " 


Dey  's  many  way  for  spark  de  girl,   an'  you 

know  dat  of  course, 
Some  way  dey  might  be  better  way,  an'  some 

dey  might  be  worse 
But  I  lak'  sit  some  cole  night  wit'  my  girl  on 

ole  burleau 
Wit'  lot   of    hay    keep    our    foot    warm — an' 

plaintee  buffalo — 


Dat  's  geev  good  chances  get  acquaint — an'  if 

burleau  upset 
An'  t'row  you  out  upon  de  snow — dat 's  better 

chances  yet — 
An'  if  you  help  de  girl  go  home,   if  horse  he 

ronne  away 
De  girl  she  's  not  much  use  at  all — don't  geev 

you  nice  baiser! 

15 


LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

Dat  's  very  well   for  fun  ma  frien',  but  w'en 

you  spark  for  keep 
She  's  not  sam  t'ing  an'  mak'  you  feel  so  scare 

lak'  leetle  sheep 
Some  tarn  you  get  de  fever — some  tarn  you  're 

lak  snowball 
An'  all  de  tarn  you  ack  lak'  fou — can't  spik  no 

t'ing  at  all. 


Wall !  dat  's  de  way  I  feel  meseff,  wit  Elmire 
on  burleau, 

Jus'  lak'  small  dog  try  ketch  hees  tail — roun* 
roun'  ma  head  she  go 

But  bimeby  I  come  more  brave — an'  tak'  El- 
mire  she's  han' 

"Laisse-moi  tranquille"  Elmire  she  say  "You 
mus'  be  crazy  man." 


"Yass — yass  I  say"  mebbe  you  t'ink  I  'm  wan 

beeg  loup  garou, 
Dat 's  forty  t'ousand  'noder  girl,  I  lef  dem  all 

for  you, 
I  s'pose  you  know  Polique  Gauthier  your  frien' 

on  St.  Cesaire 
I  ax  her  marry  me  nex'  wick — she  tak'  me — I 

don't  care." 

16 


LE  VIEUX  TEMPS 

fia  gosh;  Elmire  she  don't  lak'  dat — it  mak* 

her  feel  so  mad — 
She  commence  cry,  say  '"Poleon  you  treat  me 

very  bad — 
I  don't  lak'  see  you  t'row  you'seff  upon  Polique 

Gauthier, 
So  if  you  say  you  love  me  sure — we  mak'  de 

mariee. " — 


Oh  it  was  fine  tarn  affer  dat — Castor  I  t'ink  he 

know, 
We  're  not  too  busy  for  get  home — he  go  so 

nice  an'  slow, 
He  's    only    upset    t  'ree — four    tarn — an'    jus' 

about  daylight 
We  pass  upon  de  ole  man's  place — an'  every 

t'ing  's    all    right. 


Wall!  we  leev  happy  on  de  farm  for  nearly 

fifty  year, 
Till  wan  day  on  de  summer  tarn — she  die — ma 

belle  Elmire 
I  feel  so  lonesome  lef  behirf' — I  tink  't  was 

bes'  mebbe — 
Dat  w'en  le   Bon   Dieu    tak*  ma    famme — he 

should  not  forget  me. 

3  17 


"  DE  PAPINEAU  GUN  " 

But    dat  is  hees  biz-nesse  ma  frien' — I  know 

dat  's  all  right  dere 
I  '11  wait  till  he  call  "Toleon"  den  I  will  be 

prepare — 
An'  w'en  he  fin'  me  ready,  for  mak'  de  longue 

voyage 

He  guide  me  t'roo  de  wood  hesef  upon  ma  las' 
portage. 


11  De  Papineau  Gun'1 — An  Incident  of  the 
Canadian  Rebellion  of  1837 

"DON  jour,  M'sieu' — you  want  to  know 

'Bout  dat  ole  gun — w'at  good  she  's  for? 
W'y !  Jean  Bateese  Bruneau — mon  pere, 
Fight  wit'  dat  gun  on  Pap'neau  War! 


Long  tarn  since  den  you  say — C'est  vrai, 
An'  me  too  young  for  'member  well, 

But  how  de  patriot  fight  an'  die, 
I  off  en  hear  de  ole  folk  tell. 


De  English  don't  #ck  square  dat  tarn, 
Don't  geev  de  habitants  no  show, 

So  'long  come  Wolfred  Nelson 
Wit'  Louis  Joseph  Papineau. 
18 


"  DE  PAPINEAU  GUN  " 

An'  swear  de  peep  mus'  have  deir  right. 

Wolfred  he  's  write  Victoriaw, 
But  she  's  no  good,  so  den  de  war 

Commence  among  de  habitants. 

Mon  pere  he  leev  to  Grande  Brule . 

So  smarter  man  you  never  see, 
Was  alway  on  de  grande  hooraw! 

Plaintee  w'at  you  call  "Esprit!" 

An'  w'en  dey  form  wan  compagnie 
All  dress  wit'  tuque  an'  ceinture  sash 

Ma  fader  tak'  hees  gun  wit'  heem 
An'  marche  away  to  Saint  Eustache,. 

Were  many  patriots  was  camp 

Wit'  brave  Chenier,  deir  Capitaine,. 

W'en  'long  come  English  Generale, 
An'  more  two  t'ousan'  sojer  man. 

De  patriot  dey  go  on  church 
An'  feex  her  up  deir  possibill; 

Dey  fight  deir  bes',  but  soon  fin'  out 
"Canon  de  bois"  no  good  for  kill. 

An'  den  de  church  she  come  on  fire, 
An'  burn  almos'  down  to  de  groun'* 

So  w'at  you  t'ink  our  man  can  do 
Wit'  all  dem  English  armee  roun'? 
19 


"  DE  PAPINEAU  GUN  I: 

Toleon,  hees  sojer  never  fight 

More  brave  as  dem  poor  habitants, 

Chenier,  he  try  for  broke  de  rank 
Chenier  come  dead  immediatement, 

He  fall  near  w'ere  de  cross  is  stan' 

Upon  de  ole  church  cimitiere, 
Wit'  Jean  Poulin  an'  Laframboise 

An'  plaintee  more  young  feller  dere. 

De  gun  dey  rattle  lak'  tonnere 

Jus'  bang,  bang,  bang!  dat  's  way  she  go, 
An'  wan  by  wan  de  brave  man  's  fall 

An'  red  blood  's  cover  all  de  snow 

Ma  fader  shoot  so  long  he  can 

An'  den  he  's  load  hees  gun  some  more, 
Jomp  on  de  ice  behin'  de  church 

An'  pass  heem  on  de  'noder  shore. 

Wall !  he  reach  home  fore  very  long 

An'  keep  perdu  for  many  day, 
Till  ev'ry  t'ing  she  come  tranquille, 

An'  sojer  man  all  gone  away. 

An'  affer  dat  we  get  our  right, 
De  Canayens  don't  fight  no  more, 

Ma  fader's  never  shoot  dat  gun, 
But  place  her  up  above  de  door. 
20 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

An'  Papineau,  an'  Nelson  too 

Dey  're  gone  long  tarn,  but  we  are  free, 
Le  Bon  Dieu  have  'em  'way  up  dere. 

Salut,  Wolfred!     Salut,  Louis! 


How  Bateese  Came  Home 

\\T 'EN  I  was  young  boy  on  de  farm,  dat  's 

twenty  year  ago 
I  have  wan  frien'  he  's  leev  near  me,  call  Jean 

Bateese  Trudeau 
An  offen  w'en  we  are  alone,  we  lak  for  spik 

about 
De  tarn   w'en  we   was   come  beeg  man,   wit* 

moustache  on  our  mout'. 


Bateese  is  get  it  on  hees  head,  he  's  too  moche 

educate 
For  mak'  de  habitant  farmerre — he  better'  go 

on  State — 
An'    so   wan    summer    evening  we  're    drivin' 

home  de  cow 
He  's  tole  me  all  de  whole  beez-nesse — jus'  lak 

you  hear  me  now. 

21 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

4 'Wat 's  use  mak'  foolish  on  de  farm?  dere  's 

no  good  chances  lef ' 
An'  all  de  tarn  you  be  poor  man — you  know 

dat  's  true  you'se'f ; 
We  never  get  no  fun  at  all — don't  never  go  on 

spree 
Onless  we  pass  on   'noder  place,   an'  mak'  it 

some  monee . 


41 1    go    on    Les   Etats   Unis,    I   go   dere  right 

away 
An'  den  mebbe  on  ten-twelve  year,  I  be  riche 

man  some  day, 
An'  w'en  I  mak'  de  large  fortune,  I  come  back 

I  s'pose 
Wit'    Yankee   famme   from   off   de   State,    an' 

monee  on  my  clothes. 


"I  tole  you  somet'ing  else  also — mon  cher 
Napoleon 

I  get  de  grande  majorite",  for  go  on  parlia- 
ment 

Den  buil'  fine  house  on  borde  1'eau — near  w'ere 
de  church  is  stand 

More  finer  dan  de  Presbytere,  w'en  I  am  come 
riche  man!" 

22 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

I  say  "For  w'at  you  spik  lak  dat?  you  must 

be  gone  crazee 
Dere  's  plaintee  feller  on  de  State,  more  smarter 

dan  you  be, 
Beside  she  's  not  so  healtee  place,  an'  if  you 

mak'  1'argent, 
You  spen'  it  jus'  lak  Yankee  man,  an'  not  lak 

habitant. 


"For  me  Bateese!     I  tole  you  dis:  I'm  very 

satisfy — 
De  bes'  man  don't  leev  too  long  tarn,   some 

day  Ba  Gosh!  he  die — 
An'  s'pose  you  got  good  trotter  horse,  an'  nice 

famme  Canadienne 
Wit'  plaintee  on  de  house  for  eat — W'at  more 

you  want  ma  frien'?" 

But  Bateese  have  it  all  mak'  up,  I  can't  stop 

him  at  all 
He  's  buy  de  seconde  classe  tiquette,  for  go  on 

Central  Fall — 
An'  wit'   two-t'ree   some   more   de  boy, — w'at 

t'ink  de  sam'  he  do 
Pass  on  de  train  de  very  nex'  wick,  was  lef 

Riviere  du  Loup. 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

Wall !  mebbe  fifteen  year  or  more,  since  Bateese 

go  away 
I  fin'  mesef  Riviere  du  Loup,  wan  cole,  cole 

winter  day 
De  quick  express  she  come  hooraw!  but  stop 

de  soon  she  can 
An'  beeg  swell  feller  jomp  off  car,  dat  's  boss 

by  nigger  man. 


He  's  dressim  on  de  premiere  classe,   an'   got 

new  suit  of  clothes 
Wit'    long    moustache    dat 's    stickim    out,    de 

'noder  side  hees  nose 
Fine  gol'  watch  chain — nice  portmanteau — an' 

long,  long  overcoat 
Wit'  beaver  hat — dat 's  Yankee  style— an'  red 

tie  on  hees  t'roat — 


I  say  "Hello  Bateese!  Hello!  Comment  ga  va 

mon  vieux?" 
He  say  "Excuse  to  me,  ma  Men'  I  t'ink  I  don't 

know  you." 
I  say,  "She  's  very  curis  t'ing,  you  are  Bateese 

Trudeau, 
Was  raise  on  jus'  sam'  place  wit'  me,   dat  's 

fifteen  year  ago?" 

24 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

He  say,  "Oh  yass  dat  's  sure  enough — I  know 

you  now  firs'  rate, 
But  I  forget  mos'  all  ma  French  since  I  go  on 

de  State. 
Dere  's  'noder  t'ing  kip  on  your  head,  ma  frien' 

dey  mus'  be  tole 
Ma   name  's    Bateese    Trudeau   no   more,    but 

John  B.  Waterhole!" 


"Hole  on  de  water's"  fonny  name  for  man 

w'at  's  call  Trudeau 
Ma  frien's  dey  all  was  spik  lak  dat,  an'  I  am 

tole  heem  so — 
He   say    "Trudeau   an'    Waterhole   she's   jusr 

about  de  sam' 
An'  if  you  go  for  leev  on  State,  you  must  have 

Yankee  nam'." 


Den  we  invite  heem  come  wit'  us,  "Hotel  du: 

Canada  w" 
Were  he  was  treat  mos'  e'ry  tam,  but  can't 

tak'  w'isky  blanc, 
He  say  dat 's  leetle  strong  for  man  jus'  come 

off  Central  Fall 
A.n'    "tabac    Canayen"    bedamme!    he    won't 

smoke  dat  at  all ! — 
25 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

But  fancy  drink  lak  "Ceilings  John"  de  way 

he  put  it  down 
Was  long  tarn  since  I  don't  see  dat — I  t'ink 

he  's  goin'  drown! — 
An'  fine  cigar  cos'  five  cent  each,  an'  mak'  on 

Trois-Rivieres 
L 'enfant!    he    smoke    beeg    pile    of    dem — for 

monee  he  don't  care! — 


T  s'pose  meseff  it 's  t'ree  o'clock  w'en  we  are 

t'roo  dat  night 
Bateese,   hees  fader  come  for  heem,   an'   tak' 

heem  home  all  right 
De  ole  man  say  Bateese  spik  French,  w'en  he 

is  place  on  bed — 
An'  say  bad  word: — but  w'en  he  wake — forget 

it  on  hees  head — 


Wall !  all  de  winter  w'en  we  have  soiree  dat 's 

grande  affaire 
Bateese  Trudeau,  dit  Waterhole,  he  be  de  boss 

man  dere — 
You  bet  he  have  beeg  tarn,  but  w'en  de  spring 

is  come  encore 
He  's  buy  de  premiere  classe  tiquette  for  go  on 

State  some  more. 


26 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

You  'member  w'en  de  hard  tarn  come  on  Les 

Etats  Unis 
An'  plaintee  Canayens  go  back  for  stay  deir 

own  contree? 
Wall!  jus'  about  dat  tarn  again  I  go  Riviere 

du  Loup 
For  sole  me  two  t'ree  load  of  hay — mak*  leetle 

visit  too — 


De  freight  train  she  is  jus'  arrive — only  ten 

hour  delay — 
She  's  never  carry  passengaire — dat 's  w'at  dey 

always  say — 
I   see   poor   man   on   char   caboose — he  's   got 

heem  small  valise 
Begosh!     I    nearly    tak'    de    fit, — It    is — it    is 

Bateese! 


He  know  me  very  well  dis  tarn,  an'  say  "Bon 

jour,  mon  vieux 
I  hope  you  know  Bateese  Trudeau  was  educate 

wit'  you 
I  'm  jus'  come  off  de  State  to  see  ma  familee 

encore 
I  bus'  mesef  on   Central  Fall — I  don't  go  dere 

no  more." 

27 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

"I  got  no  monee —  not  at  all — I  'm  broke  it  up 

for  sure — 
Dat  's    locky    t'ing,    Napoleon,     de    brakeman 

Joe  Latour 
He  's  cousin  of  wan  frien'  of  me  call  Camille 

Valiquette, 
Conductor  too  's  good  Canayen — don't  ax  me 

no  tiquette. " 


I  tak'  Bateese  wit'  me  once  more  "Hotel  du 

Canadaw" 
An'  he  was  glad  for  get  de  chance  drink  some 

good  w'isky  blanc! 
Dat 's   warm   heem  up,   an   den  he   eat   mos' 

ev'ryt'ing  he  see, 
I  watch  de  w'ole  beez-nesse  mese'f — Monjee! 

he  was  hongree! 


Madame  Charette  wat  's  kip  de  place  get  very 

much  excite 
For  see  de  many  pork  an'  bean  Bateese  put  out 

of  sight 
Du  pain  dore — potate  pie — an'  'noder  t'ing  be 

dere 
But  w'en  Bateese  is  get  heem  t'roo — dey  go  I 

don't  know  w'ere. 

28 


HOW  BATEESE  CAME  HOME 

It  don't  tak'  long  for  tole  de  news  "Bateese 
come  off  de  State" 

An'  purty  soon  we  have  beeg  crowd,  lak  vil- 
lage she  's  en  fete 

Bonhomme  Maxime  Trudeau  hese'f ,  he 's 
comin'  wit'  de  pries' 

An'  pass'  heem  on  de  "Room  for  eat"  w'ere 
he  is  see  Bateese. 


Den  ev'rybody  feel  it  glad,  for  watch  de  em- 

brasser 
An'  bimeby  de  ole  man  spik  "Bateese  you  here 

for  stay?" 
Bateese  he  's   cry  lak  beeg  bebe,    "B&  j'eux 

rester  ici. 
An  if  I  never  see  de  State,  I  'm  sure  I  don't 

care — me." 


"Correc',"  Maxime  is  say  right  off,  "I  place 

you  on  de  farm 
For  help  your  poor  ole  fader,  won't  do  you  too 

moche  harm 
Please  come  wit'  me  on  Magasin,  I  feex  you 

up — ba  oui 

An'  den  you  're  ready  for  go  home  an'  see  de 
familee. " 

29 


DE  NICE  LEETLE  CANADIENNE 

Wall!  w'en  de  ole  man  an'  Bateese  come  off  de 
Magasin 

Bateese  is  los'  hees  Yankee  clothes — he  's  dress 
lak  Canayen 

Wit'  bottes  sauvages — ceinture  fleche* — an' 
coat  wit'  capuchon 

An'  spik  Frangais  au  naturel,  de  sam'  as  habi- 
tant. 


I  see  Bateese  de  oder  day,  he  's  work  hees 
fader's  place 

I  t'ink  mese'f  he  's  satisfy — I  see  dat  on  hees  face 

He  say  "I  got  no  use  for  State,  mon  cher  Na- 
poleon 

Kebeck  she  's  good  enough  for  me — Hooraw 
pour  Canadaw. " 


De  Nice  Leetle  Canadienne 


can  pass  on  de  worl'  w'erever  you  lak, 
Tak'    de    steamboat    for    go   Angleterre, 
Tak'  car  on  de  State,  an'  den  you  come  back, 

An'  go  all  de  place,  I  don't  care — 
Ma  frien'  dat  's  a  fack,  I  know  you  will  say, 

W'en  you  come  on  dis  contree  again, 
Dere  's  no  girl  can  touch,  w'at  we  see  ev'ry  day, 
De  nice  leetle  Canadienne. 
30 


DE  NICE  LEETLE  CANADIENNE 

Don't  matter  how  poor  dat  girl  she  may  be, 
Her  dress  is  so  neat  an'  so  clean, 

Mos'  ev'rywan  t'ink  it  was  mak'  on  Paree 
An'  she  wear  it,  wall!  jus'  lak  de  Queen. 

Den  come  for  fin'  out  she  is  mak'  it  herse'f, 
For  she  ain't  got  moche  monee  for  spen', 

But  all  de  sam'  tarn,  she  was  never  get  lef, 
Dat  nice  leetle  Canadienne. 


Wen  "un  vrai  Canayen"  is  mak'  it  marine, 

You  t'ink  he  go  leev  on  beeg  flat 
An'  bodder  hese'f  all  de  tarn,  night  an'  day, 

Wit'  housemaid,  an'  cook,  an'  all  dat? 
Not  moche,  ma  dear  frien',  he  tak'  de  maison, 

Cos'  only  nine  dollar  or  ten, 
Were  he  leev  lak  blood   rooster,  an'  save  de 
1'argent, 

Wit'  hees  nice  leetle  Canadienne. 


I  marry  ma  famme  w'en  I  'm  jus'  twenty  year, 

An*  now  we  got  fine  familee, 
Dat  skip  roun'  de  place  lak  leetle  small  deer, 

No  smarter  crowd  you  never  see — 
An'  I  t'ink  as  I  watch  dem  all  chasm'  about, 

Four  boy  an'  six  girl,  she  mak'  ten, 
Dat  's  help  mebbe  kip  it,  de  stock  from  run  out, 
Of  de  nice  leetle  Canadienne. 


'POLEON  DORE 

O  she  's  quick  an'  she  's  smart,  an'  got  plaintee 

heart, 

If  you  know  correc'  way  go  about, 
An'  if  you  don't  know,  she  soon  tole  you  so 

Den  tak'  de  firs'  chance  an'  get  out ; 
But  if  she  love  you,  I  spik  it  for  true, 
She  will  mak'  it  more  beautiful  den, 
An'  sun  on  de  sky  can't  shine  lak  de  eye 
Of  dat  nice  leetle  Canadienne. 


'Poleon  Dore.  —  A  Tale  of  the  Saint 
Maurice 


have  never  hear  de  story  of  de  young 
Napoleon  Dore? 
Los'  hees  life  upon  de  reever  w'en  de  lumber 

drive  go  down? 
Were  de  rapide  roar  lak  tonder,  dat  's  de  place 

he  's  goin'  onder, 

W'en  he  's  try  save  Paul  Desjardins,  'Poleon 
hese'f  is  drown. 


All  de  winter  on  de  Shaintee,  tarn  she  's  good 

and  work  she  's  plaintee, 
But  we  're  not  feel  very  sorry,  w'en  de  sun 
is  warm  hees  face, 
32 


TOLEON  DORE 

Wen  de  mooshrat  an'   de  beaver,   tak*  some 

leetle  swim  on  reever, 

An'  de  sout'  win'  scare  de  snowbird,  so  she 
fly  some  col'er  place. 

Den  de  spring  is  set  in  steady,  an'  we  get  de 

log  all  ready, 
Workin'  hard  all  day  an'  night  too,  on  de 

water  mos'  de  tarn, 
An'  de  skeeter  w  'en  dey  fin'  us,  come  so  quickly 

nearly  blin'  us, 

Biz — biz — biz — biz — all  aroun'  us  till  we  feel 
lak  sacredam. 


All  de  sam'  we  're  hooraw  feller,  from  de  top 

of  house  to  cellar, 
Ev'ry  boy   he  's  feel  so   happy,    w'en   he  's 

goin'  right  away, 
See  hees  fader  an'  hees  moder,  see  hees  sister 

an'  hees  broder, 

An'  de  girl  he  spark  las'  summer,  if  she  's 
not  get  mariee. 

Wall  we  start  heem  out  wan  morning,  an'  de 

pilot  geev  us  warning, 

"Wen    you    come    on    Rapide    Cuisse,    ma 
frien',    keep   raf    she  's   head   on   shore. 
*  33 


'POLEON  DORE 

If  you   struck  beeg  rock  on   middle,  w'ere  le 

diable  is  play  hees  fiddle, 
Dat  's  de  tarn  you  pass  on  some  place,  you 
don't  never  pass  before." 


But  we  '11  not  t'ink  moche  of  danger,  for  de 

rapide  she  's  no  stranger 
Many  tarn  we  're  runnin'  t'roo  it,  on  de  fall 

an'  on  de  spring, 
On  mos'  ev'ry  kin'  of  wedder  dat  le  Bon  Dieu 

scrape  togedder, 

An'  we  '11  never  drown  noboddy,  an'  we  '11 
never  bus'  somet  'ing. 


Dere  was  Telesphore  Montbriand,  Paul  Desjar- 

dins,  Louis  Guyon, 
Bill    McKeever,    Aleck    Gauthier,    an'    hees 

cousin  Jean  Bateese, 
'Poleon  Dore,  Aime  Beaulieu,  wit'  some  more 

man  I  can't  tole  you, 

Dat  was  mak'  it  bes'  gang  never  run  upon  de 
St.  Maurice. 


Dis  is  jus'  de  tarn  I  wish  me,  I  could  spik  de 

good  English — me — 

For  tole  you  of  de  pleasurement  we  get  upon 
de  spring, 

34 


'POLEON  DORE 

Wen  de  win'  she  's  all  a  sleepin',  an'  de  raf 

she  go  a  sweepin' 

Down  de  reever  on  some  morning,  w'ile  le 
rossignol  is  sing. 

Ev'ryt'ing  so  nice  an'  quiet  on  de  shore  as  we 

pass  by  it, 
All  de  tree  got  fine  new  spring  suit,  ev'ry 

wan  she  's  dress  on  green 
Wy  it  mak'  us  all  more  younger,  an'  we  don't 

feel  any  hunger, 

Till  de  cook  say  '"Raw  for  breakfas',"  den 
we  smell  de  pork  an'  bean. 

Some  folk  say  she  's  bad  for  leever,  but  for  man 

work  hard  on  reever, 
Dat  's  de  bes'  t'ing  I  can  tole  you,  dat  was 

never  yet  be  seen, 
Course  dere  's  oder  t'ing  ah  tak'  me,  fancy  dish 

also  I  lak  me, 

But  w'en  I  want  somet'ing  solid,  please  pass 
me  de  pork  an'  bean. 

All  dis  tarn  de  raf'  she  's  goin'  lak  steamboat 

was  got  us  to  win' 

All  we  do  is  keep  de  channel,  an'  dat 's  easy 
workin'  dere, 

35 


'POLEON  DORE 

So  we  sing  some  song  an'  chorus,  for  de  good 

tarn  dat  's  before  us, 

Wen   de  w'ole  beez-nesse   she  's  finish,  an* 
we  come  on  Trois  Rivieres. 


But  bad  luck  is  sometam  fetch  us,  for  beeg 

strong  win'  come  an'  ketch  us, 
Jus'   so   soon  we  struck  de  rapide — jus'   so 

soon  we  see  de  smoke, 
An'   before  we     spik  some  prayer  for    ourse'f 

dat  's  fightin'  dere, 

Roun'  we  come  upon  de  beeg  rock,  an'  it 's 
den  de  raf  she  broke. 


Dat  was  tarn  poor  Paul  Desjardins,  from  de 

parish  of  St.  Germain, 
He  was  long  way  on  de  fronte  side,  so  he  's 

fallin'  overboar' 
Could  n't  swim  at  all  de  man  say,  but  dat 's 

more  ma  frien',  I  can  say, 
Any  how  he  's  look  lak  drownin',  so  we  '11 
t'row  him  two  t'ree  oar. 


Dat 's   'bout  all  de  help  our  man  do,   dat  's 

'bout  ev'ryt'ing  we  can  do, 
As  de  crib  we  're  hangin'  onto  balance  on 
de  rock  itse'f, 

36 


TOLEON  DORE 

Till  de  young  Napoleon  Dore",  heem  I  start  for 

tole  de  story, 

Holler  out,  "Mon  Dieu,  I  don't  lak  see  poor 
Paul  go  drown  hese'f. " 


So  he  's  mak'  beeg  jomp  on  water,  jus'  de  sam 

you  see  some  otter 
An'  he  's  pass  on  place  w'ere  Paul  is  tryin' 

hard  for  keep  afloat, 
Den  we  see   Napoleon  ketch  heem,   try  hees 

possibill  for  fetch  heem 

But  de  current  she  's  more  stronger,  an'  de 
eddy  get  dem  bote. 

O  Mon  Dieu!  for  see  dem  two  man,  mak'  me 

feel  it  cry  lak  woman, 
Roun'  an'  roun'  upon  de  eddy,  quickly  dem 

poor  feller  go, 
Can't  tole  wan  man  from  de  oder,  an'  we  '11 

know  dem  bote  lak  broder, 
But  de   fight   she   soon  is   finish — Paul    an* 
'Poleon  go  below. 

Yass,  an'  all  de  tam  we  stay  dere,  only  t'ing 

we  do  is  pray  dere, 

For  de  soul  poor  drownin'  feller,  dat  's  enough 
mak'  us  feel  mad, 
37 


TOLEON  DORE 

Torteen  voyageurs,  all  brave  man,  glad  get  any 

chances  save  man, 

But  we  don't  see  no  good  chances,  can't  do 
not'ing,  dat  's  too  bad. 


Wall !  at  las'  de  crib  she  's  come  way  off  de 

rock,  an'  den  on  some  way, 
By  an'  by  de  w'ole  gang  's  passin'  on  safe 

place  below  de  Cuisse, 
Ev'ryboddy's  heart  she  's    breakin',    w'en  dey 

see  poor  Paul  he  's  taken 
Wit'  de  young  Napoleon  Dore,  bes'  boy  on 
de  St.  Maurice! 


An'  day  affer,  Bill  McKeever  fin'  de  bote  man 

on  de  reever, 
Wit'  deir  arm  aroun'  each  oder,  mebbe  pass 

above  dat  way — 
So  we  bury  dem  as  we  fin*  dem,  w'ere  de  pine 

tree  wave  behin'  dem 

An  de  Grande  Montagne  he  's  lookin'  down 
on  Marcheterre  Bay. 

You  can't  hear  no  church  bell  ring  dere,  but  le 

rossignol  is  sing  dere, 

An'  w'ere  ole  red  cross  she  's  stannin',  mebbe 
some  good  ange  gardien, 
38 


DE  NOTAIRE  PUBLIQUE 

Watch  de  place  w'ere  bote  man  sleepin',  keep 

de  reever  grass  from  creepin' 
On  de  grave  of  'Poleon  Dore,  an'  of  poor 
Paul  Desjardins. 


De  Notaire  Publique 


TV/T'SIEU   Paul  Joulin,   de  Notaire  Publique 

Is  come  I  s'pose  seexty  year  hees  life 

An'   de  mos'   riche  man  on  Sainte  Angelique 

Wen  he  feel  very  sorry  he  got  no  wife — 

So  he  's  paint  heem  hees  buggy,  lak  new,  by 

Gor! 
Put  flower  on  hees  coat,  mak'  hese'f  more 

gay 

Arrange  on  hees  head  fine  chapeau  castor 
An'  drive  on  de  house  of  de  Boulanger. 


For  de  Boulanger 's  got  heem  une  jolie  fille 

Mos'  bes'  lookin'  girl  on  paroisse  dey  say 
An'  all  de  young  feller  is  lak  Julie 

An'  plaintee  is  ax  her  for  mak'  marine, 
But  Julie  she  's  love  only  jus'  wan  man, 

Hees  nam'  it  is  JeYemie  Dandurand 
An'  he  's  work  for  her  sak'  all  de  hard  he  can* 

'Way  off  on  de  wood,  up  de  Mattawa. 
39 


DE  NOTAIRE  PUBLIQUE 

M'Sieu  Paul  he  spik  him  "Bonjour  Mamzelle, 

You  lak  promenade  on  de  church  wit'  me? 
Jus'  wan  leetle  word  an'  we  go  ma  belle 

An'  see  heem  de  Cure  toute  suite,  cherie ; 
I  dress  you  de  very  bes'  style  a  la  mode, 

If  you  promise  for  be  Madame  Paul  Joulin, 
For  I  got  me  fine  house  on  Bord  a  Plouffe  road 

Wit'  mor'gage  also  on  de  Grande  Moulin." 

But  Julie  she  say   "Non,   non,    M'Sieu  Paul, 

Dat  's  not  correc'  t'ing  for  poor  Jeremie 
For  I  love  dat  young  feller  lak  not'ing  at  all, 

An'  I  'm  very  surprise  you  was  not  know  me. 
Jeremie  w'en  he  's  geev  me  dat  nice  gol'  ring, 

Las'  tarn  he  's  gone  off  on  de  Mattawa 
Say  he  's  got  'noder  wan  w'en  he  's  come  nex' 
spring 

Was  mak'  me  for  sure  Madame  Dandurand. 

"I  t'ank  you  de  sam'  M'Sieu  Paul  Joulin 

I  s'pose  I  mus'  be   de  wife  wan  poor  man 
Wit'  no  chance  at  all  for  de  Grande  Moulin, 

But  leev  all  de  tarn  on  some  small  cabane." 
De    Notaire    Publique    den    is    tak'    hees   hat, 

For  he  t'ink  sure  enough  dat  hees  dog  she  's 

dead; 
Dere  's  no  use  mak'  love  on  de  girl  lak  dat, 

Wit'  not'ing  but  young   feller  on  de  head. 
40 


DE  NOTAIRE  PUBLIQUE 

Julie  she  's  feel  lonesome  mos'   all  dat  week, 

Don't  know  w'at  may  happen   she  wait  till 

spring 
Den  t'ink  de  fine  house   of  Notaire  Publique 

An'  plaintee  more  too —  but  love  's  funny  t'ing ! 
So  nex'  tarn  she  see  de  Notaire  again, 

She  laugh  on  her  eye  an'  say  "M'Sieu  Paul 
Please  pass  on  de  house,  or  you  ketch  de  rain, 

Dat  's  very  long  tarn  you  don't  come  at  all." 

She  's  geev  him  so  soon  he  's  come  on  de  door 

Du  vin  de  pays,  an'  some  nice  galettes, 
She  's  mak'  dem  herse'f  only  day  before 

An'  he  say  "Bigosh!  dat   is  fine  girl  yet." 
So  he  's  try  hees  chances  some  more — hooraw ! 

Julie  is  not  mak'  so  moche  troub'  dis  tarn; 
She  's  forget  de  poor  Jeremie  Dandurand 

An'  tole  de  Notaire  she  will  be  hees  famme. 

Wen  Jeremie  come  off  de  wood  nex'  spring, 

An'  fin'  dat  hees  girl  she  was  get  mariee 
Everybody  's  expec'  he  will  do  somet'ing, 

But  he  don't  do  not'ing  at  all,  dey  say; 
For  he  's  got  'noder  girl  on  Sainte  Dorothe"e, 

Dat  he  's  love  long  tarn,  an'  she  don't  say 

"No," 
So  he  's  forget  too  all  about  Julie 

An'  mak'  de  marine  wit'  hese'f  also. 
41 


THE  NILE  EXPEDITION 

A  Canadian  Voyageur's  Account  of  the 
Nile  Expedition — " Maxime  Labelle" 

VTICTORIAW:  she  have  beeg  war,  E-gyp  's 

de  nam'  de  place — 
An'  neeger  peep  dat  's  leev  'im  dere,  got  very 

black  de  face, 
An'  so  she  's  write  Joseph  Mercier,  he  's  stop 

on  Trois  Rivieres — 
"Please  come  right  off,  an'  bring  wit'  you  t'ree 

honder  voyageurs. 

"I  got  de  plaintee  sojer,  me,  beeg  feller  six  foot 
tall— 

Dat 's  Englishman,  ah'  Scotch  also,  don't  wear 
no  pant  at  all; 

Of  course,  de  Irishman  's  de  bes',  raise  all  de 
row  he  can, 

But  noboddy  can  pull  batteau  lak  good  Cana- 
dian man. 

"I  geev  you  steady  job  for  sure,  an'  w'en  you 

get  'im  t'roo 
I  bring  you  back  on  Canadaw,  don't  cos'  de 

man  un  sou, 
Dat 's  firs'-class  steamboat  all  de  way  Kebeck 

an'  Leeverpool, 
An'  if  you  don't  be  satisfy,  you  mus'  be  beeg, 

beeg  fool." 

42 


THE  NILE  EXPEDITION 

We  meet  upon  Hotel  Dufresne,  an'  talk  heem 
till  daylight, 

An'  Joe  he  's  treat  so  many  tarn,  we  very  near 
get  tight, 

Den  affer  w'ile,  we  mak'  our  min'  dat  's  not 
bad  chance,  an'  so 

Joseph  Mercier  he's  telegraph,  "Correc',  Ma- 
dame, we  go." 


So  Joe  arrange  de  whole  beez-nesse  wit'  Queen 

Victoriaw ; 
Two  dollar  day — work  all  de  tarn — dat 's  purty 

good  1'argent! 
An'  w'en  we  start  on  Trois  Rivieres,  for  pass 

on  boar'  de  ship, 
Our  frien'  dey  all  say,  "Bon  voyage,"  an'  den 

Hooraw !     E-gyp' ! 


Dat  beeg  steamboat  was  plonge  so  moche,  I  'm 

'fraid  she  never  stop — 
De  Capitaine  's  no  use  at  all,  can't  kip  her  on 

de  top — 
An'  so  we  all  come  very  sick,  jus'  lak  one  leetle 

pup, 
An'  ev'ry  tarn  de  ship  's  go  down,  de  inside 

she  's  go  up. 

43 


THE  NILE  EXPEDITION 

I  'm  sorry  spoke  lak  dis,  ma  frien',  if  you  don't 

t'ink  it  's  so, 
Please  ax  Joseph  Mercier  hese'f,  or  Aleck  De 

Courteau, 
Dat  stay  on  bed  mos'  all  de  tarn,  so  sick  dey 

nearly  die, 
But  lak'  some  great,  beeg  Yankee  man,   was 

never  tole  de  lie. 


De  gang  she  's  travel,  travel,  t'roo  many  strange 
contree, 

An'  ev'ry  place  is  got  new  nam',  I  don't  re- 
member, me, 

We  see  some  fonny  t'ing,  for  sure,  more  fonny 
I  can  tell, 

But  w'en  we  reach  de  Neel  Riviere,  dat  's  feel 
more  naturel 


So  many  fine,  beeg  sojer  man,  I  never  see  be- 
fore, 

All  dress  heem  on  grand  uniform,  is  wait  upon 
de  shore, 

Some   black,    some   green,    an'    red   also,    cos* 
honder  dollar  sure, 

An'  holler  out,  "She  's  all  right  now,  here  come 
de  voyageurs!" 

44 


THE  NILE  EXPEDITION 

We  see  boss  Generale  also,  he  's  ride  on  beeg 

chameau. 
Dat  's  w'at  you  call  Ca-melle,  I  t'ink,  I  laugh 

de  way  she  go ! 
Jomp  up,  jomp  down,  jomp  ev'ry  place,  but 

still   de   Generale 
Seem  satisfy  for  stay  on  top,  dat  fonny  an-i- 

mal. 


He's  holler  out  on  Joe   Mercier,    "Comment 

ca  va  Joseph 
You  lak  for  come  right  off  wit'  me,  tak'  leetle 

ride  yourseff?" 
Joseph,  he  mak'  de  grand  salut,  an'  tak'  it  off 

hees  hat, 
"Merci,  Mon  Generale,"  he  say,  "I  got  no  use 

for  dat." 


Den  affer  we  was   drink  somet'ing,   an'   sing 

"Le  Brigadier," 
De  sojer  fellers  get  prepare,  for  mak'  de  em- 

barquer, 
An'    everybody 's   shout   heem    out,    w'en    we 

tak'  hole  de  boat 
"Hooraw    pour    Queen    Victoriaw!"    an'    also 

"pour  nous  autres. " 
45 


THE  NILE  EXPEDITION 

Bigosh;  I  do  hard  work  mese'f  upon  de  Ot- 
tawa, 

De  Gatineau  an'  St.  Maurice,  also  de  Mat- 
tawa, 

But  I  don't  never  work  at  all,  I  'sure  you  dat  's 
a  fack 

Until  we  strike  de  Neel  Riviere,  an'  sapre 
Catarack! 


"Dis  way,  dat  way,  can't  keep  her  straight," 

"look  out,  Bateese,  look  out!" 
"Now  let  her  go" — "arrete  un  peu, "   dat 's 

way  de  pilot  shout, 
"Don't    wash   de  neeger   girl   on   shore,"    an' 

"prenez  garde  behin" 
"Wat 's 'matter  wit'  dat  rudder  man?     I  t'ink 

he's  goin'  blin'!" 


Some  tam  of  course,  de  boat 's  all  right,  an' 
carry  us  along 

An'  den  again,  we  mak  portage,   w'en  current 
she  's  too  strong 

On  place  lak'  dat,  we  run  good  chance,  for  sun- 
struck  on  de  neck, 

An'  plaintee  tam  we  wish  ourseff  was  back  on 
ole  Kebeck. 

46 


THE  NILE  EXPEDITION 

De  seconde  Catarack  we  pass,  more  beeger  dan 
de  Soo, 

She  's  nearly  t  orty  mile  for  sure,  it  would  as- 
tonish you, 

Dat  's  place  t'ree  Irishman  get  drown,  wan  day 
we  have  beeg  storm, 

I  s'pose.de  Queen  is  feel  lak  cry,  los'  dat  nice 
uniform! 


De  night  she  's  very,  very  cole,  an'  hot  upon 

de  day, 
An'  all  de  tarn,  you  feel  jus'  lak  you  're  goin' 

melt  away, 
But  never  min'  an'  don't  get  scare,  you  mak' 

it  up  all  right, 
An'    twenty    poun'    you    los'    dat    day,    she 's 

comin'  back  sam'  night. 


We  got  small  bugle  boy  also,  he  's  mebbe  stan' 

four  foot, 
An'  firs'  t'ing  ev'ry  morning,  sure,  he  mak'  it 

toot!  toot!  toot! 
She  's  nice  enough  upon  de  day,  for  hear  de 

bugle  call, 
But  w'en  she  play  before  daylight,  I  don't  lak 

dat  at  all. 

47 


THE  NILE  EXPEDITION 

We   mus*    get   up   immediatement,    dat   lee  tie 

feller  blow, 
An'  so  we  start  heem  off  again,  for  pull  de 

beeg  batteau, 
De  sojer  man  he  's  nice,  nice  boy,  an'  help  us 

all  he  can, 
An'  geev  heem  chance,  he  's  mos'  as  good  lak 

some  Canadian  man. 


Wall  all  de  tarn,  she  go  lak  dat,  was  busy  every 

day, 
Don't  get  moche  chance  for  foolishness,  don't 

get  no  chance  for  play, 
Dere  's   plaintee   danger   all   aroun',   an'   w'en 

we  're  comin'  back 
We  got  look  out  for  run  heem  safe,  dem  sapre 

Catarack. 


But  w'ere  's  de  war?     I  can't  mak'  out,  don't 

see  no  fight  at  all! 
She  's  not  'ing  but  une  Grande  Piqnique,  dat 's 

las'  in  all  de  fall ! 
Mebbe   de  neeger   King  he  's   scare,   an'   skip 

anoder  place, 
An'  pour  la  Reine  Victoriaw!     I  never  see  de 

face. 

48 


MEMORIES 

But  dat  's  not  ma  beez-nesse,  ma  frien',  I  'm 

ready  pull  batteau 
So  long  she  pay  two  dollar  day,  wit'  pork  an' 

bean   also ; 
An'  if  she  geev  me  steady  job,  for  mak'  some 

more  1'argent, 
I   say,    "Hooraw!  for  all  de  tarn,   on   Queen 

Victoriaw!" 


Memories 


J 


/~\  SPIRIT  of  the  mountain  that  speaks  to 

^^^     us  to-night, 

Your  voice  is  sad,  yet  still  recalls  past  visions 

of  delight, 
When    'mid    the    grand   old    Laurentides,    old 

when  the  earth  was  new, 
With  flying  feet  we  followed  the  moose  and 

caribou. 

And  backward  rush  sweet  memories,  like  frag- 
ments of  a  dream, 

We  hear  the  dip  of  paddle  blades,  the  ripple  of 
the  stream, 

The  mad,  mad  rush  of  frightened  wings  from 
brake  and  covert  start, 

The  breathing  of  the  woodland,  the  throb  of 
nature's  heart. 
4  49 


MEMORIES 

Once  more  beneath  our  eager  feet  the  forest 

carpet  springs, 
We  march  through  gloomy  valleys,  where  the 

vesper  sparrow  sings. 
The  little  minstrel  heeds  us  not,  nor  stays  his 

plaintive  song, 
As  with  our  brave  coureurs  de  bois  we  swiftly 

pass  along. 


Again  o'er  dark  Wayagamack,  in  bark   canoe 

we  glide, 
And  watch  the  shades  of  evening  glance  along 

the  mountain  side. 
Anon   we   hear   resounding   the   wizard   loon's 

wild  cry, 
And  mark  the  distant  peak  whereon  the  lin- 

g'ring  echoes  die. 


But  Spirit  of  the  Northland!  let  the  winter 
breezes  blow, 

And  cover  every  giant  crag  with  rifts  of  driving 
snow. 

Freeze  every  leaping  torrent,  bind  all  the  crys- 
tal lakes, 

Tell  us  of  fiercer  pleasures  when  the  Storm 
King  awakes. 

50 


MEMORIES 

And  now  the  vision   changes,   the   winds   are 

loud  and  shrill, 
The  falling  flakes  are  shrouding  the  mountain 

and  the  hill, 
But  safe  within  our  snug  cabane  with  comrades 

gathered  near, 
We   set   the   rafters   ringing   with    "Roulant" 

and   "Brigadier." 


Then  after  Pierre  and  Telesphore  have  danced 

"Le  Caribou," 
Some  hardy  trapper  tells  a  tale  of  the  dreaded 

Loup   Garou, 
Or   phantom   bark   in   moonlit   heavens,    with 

prow  turned  to  the  East, 
Bringing  the  Western  voyageurs  to  join  the 

Christmas  feast. 


And    while    each    backwoods    troubadour    is 

greeted   with   huzza. 
Slowly  the  homely  incense  of   "tabac   Cana- 

yen" 
Rises   and   sheds   its   perfume  like   flowers   of 

Araby, 
O'er   all   the    true-born    loyal    Enfants   de   la 

Patrie. 


PHIL-0-RUM  JUNEAU 

And  thus  with  song  and  story,  with  laugh  and 

jest  and  shout, 
We   heed   not    dropping   mercury   nor   storms 

that  rage  without, 
But  pile  the  huge  logs  higher  till  the  chimney 

roars  with  glee, 
And  banish  spectral  visions  with  La  Chanson 

Normandie. 

"Brigadier!   repondit   Pandore 
Brigadier!    vous    avez    raison, 
Brigadier!    repondit    Pandore, 
Brigadier!  vous  avez  raison!" 

O  spirit  of  the  mountain!  that  speaks  to  us 

to-night, 
Return  again  and  bring  us  new  dreams  of  past 

delight, 
And  while  our  heart-throbs  linger,  and  till  our 

pulses  cease, 
We  '11    worship    thee    among    the    hills    where 

flows  the  Saint- Maurice. 

Phil-o-rum  Juneau — A  Story  of  the 
"  Chasse    Gallerie" 

In  the  days  of  the  "Old  Regime"  in  Canada,  the  free 
life  of  the  woods  and  prairies  proved  too  tempting  for  the 
52 


PHIL-0-RUM  JUNEAU 

young  men,  who  frequently  deserted  civilization  for  the 
savage  delights  of  the  wilderness,  These  voyageurs  and 
coureurs  de  bois  seldom  returned  in  the  flesh,  but  on  every 
New  Year's  Eve,  back  thro'  snowstorm  and  hurricane — in 
mid-air — came  their  spirits  in  ghostly  canoes,  to  join,  for 
a  brief  spell,  the  old  folks  at  home  and  kiss  the  girls,  on 
the  annual  feast  of  the  "Jour  de  1'an,"  or  New  Year's 
Day  The  legend  which  still  survives  in  French-speaking 
Canada  is  known  as  "La  Chasse  Gallerie." 


tTE  sit  on  de  corner  mos'   every  night,  ole 

Phil-o-rum  Juneau, 
Spik  wit'  hese'f  an'  shake  de  head,  an*  smoke 

on  de  pipe  also — 
Very  hard  job  it  's  for  wake  him  up,  no  matter 

de  loud  we  call 
Wen  he  's  feex  hese'f  on  de  beeg  arm-chair, 

back  on  de  kitchen  wall. 


He  don't  believe  not'ing  at   all,   at  all  'bout 

lates'  new  fashion  t'ing 
Le  char  'lectrique  an'  de  telephome,  was  talk 

w'en  de  bell  she  ring 
Dat  's  leetle  too  moche  for  de  ole  bonhomme, 

mak"  him  shake  it  de  head  an'  say 
"Wat's   use   mak'    de   foolish   lak   dat,  sapre"! 
I  'm  not  born  only  yesterday. " 
53 


PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU 

But  if  you  want  story  dat  's  true,  true,  true,  I 

tole  you  good  wan  moi-meme 
An'  de  t'ing  you  was  spik,  dat  I  don't  believe, 

for  sure  she  was  beat  all  dem. 
So  he  's    cough  leetle  cough,   clear  'im  up  de 

t'roat,  fill  hees  pipe  wit'  some  more  tabac, 
An'  w'en  de  chil'ren  is  come  tranquille,  de  ole 

man  begin  comme  ca. 


L'enfant!    1'enfant!    it's    very    strange    t'ing! 

mak'  me  laugh  too  w  'en  I  hear 
De  young  peep  talk  of  de  long,  long  tarn  of 

seventy,  eighty  year! 
Dat 's  only  be  jus'  eighty  New  Year  Day,  an' 

quickly  was  pass  it  by 
It 's  beeg,   beeg  dream,  an'  you  don't  wake  up, 

till  affer  you  're  comin'  die. 


Dat 's  true  sure  enough,  you  see  curi's  t'ing, 

if  you  only  leev  leetle  w'ile, 
So  long  you  got  monee  go  all  de  place,   for 

mebbe  t'ree  t'ousan'  mile, 
But  monee  's  not  everyt'ing  on  dis  worl',1  tole 

you  dat,  mes  amis, 

An'  man  can  be  ole  lak'  two  honder  year,  an' 
not  see  it,  La  Chasse  Gal  'rie. 
54 


PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU 

I  never  forget  de  fine  New  Year  night,  nearly 

seexty  year  ago, 
Wen  I  'm  lef '  it  our  place  for  attend  soiree,  on 

ole  Maxime  Baribault, 
Nine  mile  away,  I  can  see  tin  roof,  on  church. 

of  de  St.  Joseph, 
An'  over  de  snow,  de  leaf  dat  die  las'  fall,  was 

chasin'  itse'f. 


Dere  was  some  of  da  neighbor  house  I  call, 

dat 's  be  de  ole  fashion  style, 
An'  very  nice  style  too,  mes  amis,  I  hope  she 

will  las'  long  w'ile, 
I  shak'  it  de  han',  I  drink  sante",  an'  kiss  it  de 

girl  she  's  face, 
So  it 's  come  ten  o'clock,  w'en  I  pass  on  road, 

for  visit  Maxime  hees  place. 


But  I  'm  not  go  more  mebbe  t'ree  arpent,  w'en 

de  sky  is  get  black  all  roun', 
An'  de  win'  she  blow  lak  I  never  see,  an'  de 

beeg  snowstorm  come  down. 
I  mak'  it  my  min'  she  's  goin'  be  soon,  de  very 

bad  night  for  true, 
Dat  's  locky  I  got  plaintee  whiskey  lef,  so  I 

tak'  it  wan  leetle  "coup." 
55 


PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU 

Purty  quick  affer  dat,  I  'm  corhin'  nice  place, 

was  stan'in'  some  fine  beeg  tree 
Were  de  snow   don't  dreef,  an'  it  seem  jus' 

lak  dat  place  it  is  mak'  for  me, 
So  I  pass  it  on  dere,  for  mak'  safe  mese'f,  w'ile 

de  storm  is  blow  outside, 
As  if  all  de  devil  on  hell  below,  was  tak'  heem 

some  fancy  ride. 


Wan  red  fox  he  's  comin'  so  close,  so  close,  I 

could  ketch  him  wit'  de  han', 
But  not  on  de  tarn  lak  dis  ma  frien',  "Marche 

toi  all  de  quick  you  can, " 
Poor  feller  he  's  tire  an'  seem  los'  hees  way, 

an'  w  'en  he  reach  home  dat  night 
Mebbe  he  fin'  it  all  was  close  up,  an'  de  door 

it  was  fassen  tight. 


But  w'at  is  dat  soun'  mak'  de  hair  stan'  up, 

w'at  is  it  mean,  dat  cry? 
Comin'  over  de  high  tree  top,  out  of  de  nor'- 

wes'  sky 
Lak  cry  of  de  wiT  goose  w'en  she  pass  on  de 

spring  tarn  an'  de  fall, 
But  wiT  goose  fly  on  de  winter  night!     I  never 

see  dat  at  all. 

56 


PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU 

On,  on  t'roo  de  night,  she  is  quickly  come, 
more  closer  all  de  tarn, 

But  not  lak  de  cry  of  some  wiT  bird  now,  don't 
seem  it  at  all  de  sam' ; 

An'  den  wit'  de  rush  of  de  win',  I  hear  some- 
body sing  chanson 

An'  de  song  dey  sing  is  de  ole,  ole  song,  "Le 
Canayen  Errant." 


But  it 's  mak'  me  lonesome  an'  scare  also,  jus* 

sam'  I  be  goin'  for  die 
Wen  I  lissen  dat  song  on  night  lak  dis,  so  far 

away  on  de  sky, 
Don't  know  w'at  to  do  at  all  mese'f,  so  I  go 

w  'ere  I  have  good  view, 
An'  up,   up  above  t'roo  de  storm  an'   snow, 

she  's  comin'  wan  beeg  canoe. 


Den  somebody  call  it  ma  nam'  out  loud,  firs' 

tarn  it  was  scare  me  so, 
"We  know  right  away,  dat  was  you  be  dere, 

hello  Phil-o-rum,  hello!" 
An'  soon  I  see  him  dat  feller  spik,  I  'member 

him  too  mese'f, 
We  go  de  sam'  school  twenty  year  before,  hees 

nam's  Telesphore  Le  Boeuf. 
57 


PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU 

But  I  know  on  de  way  canoe  she  go,  dat  de 

crowd  he  mus'  be  dead  man 
Was  come  from  de  Grande  Riviere  du  Nord, 

come  from  Saskatchewan, 
Come  too  from  all  de  place  is  lie  on  de  Hodson 

Bay  Contree, 
An'  de  t'ing  I  was  see  me  dat  New  Year  night, 

is  le  phantome  Chasse  Gal'rie. 


An'  many  de  boy  I  was  see  him  dere,  I  know 

him  so  long  before 
He  's  goin'  away  on  de  far  contree — for  never 

return  no  more — 
An'  now  on  phantome  he  is  comin'  home — t  'roo 

de  storm  an'  de  hurricane 
For  kiss  him  de  girl  on  jour  de  1'an,  an'  see  de 

ole  peep  again. 


De   beeg  voyageur    w'at  is   steer    canoe,   wit' 

paddle  hoi'  on  hees  han' 
Got  very  long  hair  was  hang  down  hees  neck, 

de  sam'  as  wil'  Injin  man 
Invite  me  on  boar'  dat  phantome  canoe,  for 

show  it  dead  man  de  way — 
Don't  lak  it  de  job,  but  no  use  refuse,  so  I  '11 

mak'  it  de  embarquer. 
58 


PHIL-0-RUM  JUNEAU 

Den  wan  of  de  gang,  he  mus'  be  foreman,  say 

it 's  tarn  for  have  leetle  drink, 
So  he  pass  heem  black  bottle  for  tak'  un  "coup, " 

an'  it 's  look  lak  ma  own  I  t'ink, 
But  it  can't  be  de  sam',  I  '11  be  swear  for  dat, 

for  w'en  I  was  mak'  de  go, 
I  fin*  dere  is  not'ing  inside   but  win',  an'  de 

whiskey  's  phantome  also. 


Dey  be  laugh  affer  dat,  lak  dey  tak'  some  fit, 

so  de  boss  spik  him,   "Tiens  Phil-o-rum, 
Never  min'   on   dem  feller — mus'   have   leetle 

sport,  dat 's  very  long  way  we  come, 
Will  you  ketch  it  de  paddle  for  steer  us  quick 

on  place  of  Maxime  Baribault?" 
An'  he  's  ax  me  so  nice,  I  do  as  he  please',  an* 

den  away  off  she  go. 


Wan  minute — two  minute — we  pass  on  dere, 

Maxime  he  is  all  hooraw! 
An'  we  know  by  musique  dat  was  play  inside, 

mus'  be  de  great  Joe  Violon, 
Dat  feller  work  fiddle  on  very  bes'  way,  dat 

nobody  never  see 
Mak'  de  boy  an'  de  girl,  ole  peep  also,  dance 

lak  dey  was  go  crazee. 
59 


PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU 

You  s'pose  dey  was  let  me  come  on  dat  house? 

Not  at  all,  for  de  boss  he  say, 
' '  Phil-o-rum,  it's  long   tarn  we  don't  see  our 

frien'    can't   get   heem   chance   ev'ry   day, 
Please  stop  on   canoe  so  she  won't  blow  off, 

w  'ile  we  pass  on  de  house  an'  see 
Dem  frien'  we  was  lef  an'  de  girl  we  spark, 

before  we  go  strange  contree. " 


An'  me  I  was  sit  on  canoe  outside,  jus'  lak  I 

was  sapre  fou, 
Watchin'  dem  feller  dat 's  all  dead  man,  dance 

heem  lak  Loup  Garou. 
De  boss  he  kiss  Marie  Louise,  ma  girl,  dat 's 

way  he  spen'  mos'  de  tarn, 
But  of  course  she  know  not 'ing  of  dat  biz-nesse 

— don't  lak  it  me  jus'  de  sam'. 


By   tarn   I  'm   commence  it   for  feel   de   col', 

dey  're  all  comin'  out  encore, 
An'  we   start  off  again  t'roo  de  sky,  hooraw! 

for  mak'  de  visite  some  more, 
All  de  place  on   de  parish  we  go   dat  night, 

w'erever  dey  get  some  dance, 
Till  I  feel  it  so  tire,  I  could  sleep  right  off,  but 

dey  don't  geev  it  me  no  chance. 
60 


PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU 

De  las'  place  we  're  passin'  dat  's  Bill  Boucher, 

he  's  very  good  frien'  of  me, 
An'  I  t'ink  it  's  near  tarn  I  was  lef  dat  crowd, 

so  I  '11  snub  de  canoe  on  tree, 
Den  affer  dead  man  he  was  safe  inside,   an' 

ev'rywan  start  danser, 
I  go  on  de  barn  wat  's  behin'  de  house,  for 

see  I  can't  hide  away. 


She 's   nice    place   de   barn,    an'    got   plaintee 

warm,  an'  I  'm  feel  very  glad  be  dere, 
So  long  dead  feller  don't  fin'  me  out,  an'  ketch 

it  me  on  de  hair, 
But  s'pose  I  get  col',  work  him  hard  all  night, 

'cos  I  make  it  wan  leetle  cough, 
Wen  de  rooster  he  's  scare,  holler  t'ree,  four 

tam,  an'  whole  t  'ing  she  bus'  right  off. 


I  '11  never  see  not'ing  so   quick  again — Canoe 

an'  dead  man  go  scat! 
She  's  locky  de  rooster  he  mak'  de  noise,  bus* 

ev'ryt'ing  up  lak  dat, 
Or  mebbe  dem  feller  get  me  encore,  an'  tak* 

me  on  Hodson  Bay, 
But  it 's  all  right  now,  for  de  morning  's  come, 

an'  he  see  me  ole  Bill  Boucher. 
61 


PHIL-O-RUM  JUNEAU 

I  'm  feel  it  so  tire,  an'  sore  all  de  place,  wit'  all 

de  hard  work  I  do' 
'Cos  I  'm  not  very  use  for  mak'  paddle,  me,  on 

beeg,  beeg  phantome  canoe, 
But  Bill  an'  hees  boy  dey  was  leef  me  up,  an' 

carry  me  on  maison 
Were  plaintee  nice  t'ing  dey  was  mak'  me  eat 

an'  drink  it  some  whiskey  blanc. 


An'  now  w'en   I  'm   finish,  w'at  you   t'ink   it 

youse'f,    'bout   story   dat   you    was   hear? 
No  wonner  ma  hair  she  is  all  turn  w'ite  before 

I  get  eighty  year! 
But  'member  dis  t'ing,  I  be  tole  you  firs,  don't 

los'  it  mes  chers  amis, 
De  man  he  can  leev  him  on  long,  long  tam, 

an'  not  see  it  La  Chasse  Gal'rie! 


He  sit  on  de  corner  mos*  every  night,  ole  Phil- 

o-rum  Juneau, 
Spik  wit'  hesef,'  an'  shak'  de  head,  an'  smoke 

on  de  pipe  also, 
But  kip  very  quiet,  don't  wak'  him  up,  let  him 

stay  on  de  kitchen  wall, 
For  if  you  believe  w'at  de  ole  man  say,  you 

believe  any  t'ing  at  all. 
62 


DE  BELL  OF  SAINT  MICHEL 

De  Bell  of  Saint  Michel     // 

'way,  go  'way,  don't  ring  no  more,  ole 
bell  of  Saint  Michel, 
For  if  you  do,  I  can't  stay  here,  you  know  dat 

very  well, 
No  matter  how  I  close  ma  ear,  I  can't  shut  out 

de  soun', 

It  rise  so  high  'bove  all  de  noise  of  dis  beeg 
Yankee  town. 

An'  w'en  it  ring,  I  t'ink  I  feel  de  cool,  cool 

summer  breeze 
Dat 's  blow  across   Lac   Peezagonk,   an'   play 

among  de  trees, 
Dey  're  makin'  hay,  I  know  mese'f,  can  smell 

de  pleasant  smell 
O!  how  I  wish  I  could  be  dere  to-day  on  Saint 

Michel! 

It 's  fonny  t'ing,  for  me  I  'm  sure,  dat 's  travel 

ev'ryw'ere, 
How  moche  I  t'ink  of  long  ago  w'en  I  be  leevin* 

dere; 
I  can't  'splain  dat  at  all,  at  all,  mebbe  it 's 

naturel, 
But  I  can't  help  it  w'en  I  hear  de  bell  of  Saint 

Michel. 

63 


DE  BELL  OF  SAINT  MICHEL 

Dere  's   plaintee   t'ing   I    don't   forget,    but    I 

remember  bes' 
c)e  spot  I  fin'  wan  day  on  June  de  small  san'- 

piper's  nes' 
An*   dat  hole  on  de  reever  w'ere  I  ketch  de 

beeg,  beeg  trout 
Was  very  nearly  pull  me  in  before  I  pull  heem 

out. 


An'   leetle   Elodie   Leclaire,    I    wonner   if    she 

still 
Leev  jus'  sam'  place  she  use  to  leev  on  'noder 

side  de  hill. 
But  s'pose  she  marry  Joe  Barbeau,  dat 's  alway 

hangin'  roun' 
Since  I  am  lef  ole  Saint  Michel  for  work  on 

Yankee  town. 


Ah!  dere  she  go,   ding  dong,   ding,   dong,   its 

back,  encore  again 
An'  ole  chanson  come  on  ma  head  of  "a  la 

claire  fontaine, " 
I  'm  not  surprise  it  soun'  so  sweet,  more  sweeter 

I  can  tell 
For  wit'  de  song  also  I  hear  de  bell  of  Saint 

Michel. 

64 


PELANG 

It 's  very  strange  about  dat  bell,  go  ding  dong 

all  de  w'ile 
For  when  I  'm  small  gargon  at   school,   can't 

hear  it  half  a  mile ; 
But  seems  more  farder  I  get  off  from  Church 

of  Saint  Michel, 
De  more  I  see  de  ole  village  an'  louder  soun' 

de  bell. 


O !  all  de  monee  dat  I  male'  w'en  I  be  travel  roun' 
Can't  kip  me  long  away  from  home  on  dis  beeg 

Yankee  town, 
I  t'ink  I  '11  settle  down  again  on  Parish  Saint 

Michel, 
An'  leev  an'  die  more  satisfy  so  long  I  hear  dat 

bell. 


Pelang 

"DELANO!     Pelang!     Mon    cher    gargon, 

I  t'ink  of  you — t'ink  of  you  night   and 

day — 

Don't  mak'  no  difference,  seems  to  me 
De  long  long  tarn  you  're  gone  away. 


PELANG 

De  snow  is  deep  on  de  Grande  Montagne — 
Lak  tender  de  rapide  roar  below — 

De  sam'  kin'  night,  ma  boy  get  los' 
On  beeg,  beeg  storm  forty  year  ago. 

An'  I  never  was  hear  de  win'  blow  hard, 

An'    de   snow   come   sweesh   on   de   window 
pane — 

But  ev'ryt'ing  'pear  lak'  it 's  yesterday 

An'  whole  of  ma  troub'  is  come  back  again. 

Ah  me!  I  was  foolish  young  girl  den 

It 's  only  ma  own  plaisir  I  care, 
An'  w'en  some  dance  or  soiree  come  off 

Dat  's  very  sure  t'ing  you  will  see  me  dere. 

Don't  got  too  moche  sense  at  all  dat  tarn, 
Run  ev'ry  place  on  de  whole  contree — 

But  I  change  beeg  lot  w'en  Pelang  come  'long, 
For  I  love  him  so  well,  kin'  o'  steady  me. 

An'  he  was  de  bes'  boy  on  Coteau, 
An'  t'ink  I  am  de  bes'  girl  too  for  sure — 

He  's  tole  me  dat,  geev  de  ring  also 
Was  say  on  de  inside  "Je  t'aime  toujours. " 

I  geev  heem  some  hair  dat  come  off  ma  head, 
I  mak'  de  nice  stocking  for  warm  hees  feet, 

So  ev'ryt'ing  's  feex,  w'en  de  spring  is  come 
For  mak'  mariee  on  de  church  toute  suite. 
66 


PELANG 

"Wen  de  spring  is  come!"  Ah  I  don't  see 
dat, 

Dough  de  year  is  pass  as  dey  pass  before, 
An'  de  season  come,  an'  de  season  go, 

But  our  spring  never  was  come  no  more. 


It 's  on  de  f£te  of  de  jour  de  1'an, 
An'  de  worl'  outside  is  cple  an'  w'ite 

As  I  sit  an'  watch  for  mon  cher  Pelang 

For  he  's  promise  come  see  me  dis  very  night. 

Bonhomme  Peloquin  dat  is  leev  near  us — 
He  's  alway  keep  look  heem  upon  de  moon — 

See  fonny  t'ing  dere  only  week  before, 

An'  say  he  's  expec'  some  beeg  storm  soon. 

So  ma  fader  is  mak'  it  de  laugh  on  me 

"Pelang    he's    believe    heem    de    ole    Bon- 
homme 

Dat  t'ink  he  see  ev'ryt'ing  on  de  moon 
An'  mebbe  he  's  feel  it  too  scare  for  come." 

But  I  don't  spik  not'ing  I  am  so  sure 

Of  de  promise  Pelang  is  mak'  wit'  me — 

An'  de  mos'  beeg  storm  dat  is  never  blow 
Can't  kip  heem  away  from  hees  own  Marie. 
67 


PELANG 

I  open  de  door,  an'  pass  outside 
For  see  mese'f  how  de  night  is  look 

An'  de  star  is  commence  for  go  couche* 
De  mountain  also  is  put  on  hees  tuque. 

No  sooner,  I  come  on  de  house  again 

Were  ev'ryt'ing  feel  it   so  nice  an'  warm, 
Dan  out  of  de  sky  come  de  Nor'  Eas'  win' — 

Out  of  de  sky  come  de  beeg  snow  storm. 

Blow  lak  not'ing  I  never  see, 

Blow  lak  le  diable  he  was  mak'  grande  tour; 
De  snow  come  down  lak  wan  avalanche, 

An'  cole!  Mon  Dieu,  it  is  cole  for  sure! 

f 

I  t'ink,  I  t'ink  of  mon  pauvre  gargon, 
Dat  's  out  mebbe  on  de  Grande  Montagne ; 

So  I  place  chandelle  w'ere  it 's  geev  good  light, 
An'  pray  Le  Bon  Dieu  he  will  help  Pelang. 

De  ole  folk  t'ink  I  am  go  crazee, 

An'  moder  she  's  geev  me  de  good  night  kiss; 
She  say  "Go  off  on  your  bed,  Marie, 

Dere  's  nobody  come  on  de  storm  lak  dis." 

But  ma  eye  don't  close  dat  long,  long,  night 
For  it  seem  jus'  lak  phantome  is  near, 

An'  I  t'ink  of  de  terrible  Loup  Garou 
An'  all  de  bad  story  I  offen  hear. 
68 


PELANG 

Dere  was  tarn  I  am  sure  something  call  "Marie" 

So  plainly  I  open  de  outside  door, 
But  it  's  meet  me  only  de  awful  storm, 

An  de  cry  pass  away — don't  come  no  more. 

An'  de  morning  sun,  w'en  he  's  up  at  las', 
Fin'  me  w'ite  as  de  face  of  de  snow  itse'f, 

For  I  know  very  well,  on  de  Grande  Montagne, 
Ma  poor  Pelang  he  's  come  dead  hese'f. 

It 's  noon  by  de  clock  w'en  de  storm  blow  off, 
An'  ma  fader  an'  broder  start  out  for  see 

Any  track  on  de  snow  by  de  mountain  side, 
Or  down  on  de  place  w'ere  chemin  should  be. 

No  sign  at  all  on  de  Grande  Montagne, 
No  sign  all  over  de  w'ite,  w'ite  snow; 

Only  hear  de  win'  on  de  beeg  pine  tree, 
An'  roar  of  de  rapide  down  below. 

An'  w'ere  is  he  lie,  mon  cher  Pelang! 

Pelang  ma  boy  I  was  love  so  well? 
Only  Le  Bon  Dieu  up  above 

An'  mebbe  de  leetle  snow  bird  can  tell. 

An'  I  t'ink  I  hear  de  leetle  bird  say, 

"Wait  till  de  snow  is  geev  up  its  dead, 

Wait  till  I  go,  an'  de  robin  come, 

An'  den  you  will  fin'  hces  cole,  cole  bed." 
69 


MON  CHOUAL  "  CASTOR  " 

An'  it 's  all  come  true,  for  w'en  de  sun 

Is   warm  de   side   of  de   Grande   Montagne 

An'  drive  away  all  de  winter  snow, 
We  fin'  heem  at  las',  mon  cher  Pelang! 

An'  here  on  de  f£te  of  de  jour  de  1'an, 

Alone  by  mese'f  I  sit  again, 
Wile  de  beeg,  beeg  storm  is  blow  outside, 

An'    de   snow  come   sweesh  on   de   window 
pane. 

Not  all  alone,  for  I  t'ink  I  hear 

De  voice  of  ma  boy  gone  long  ago ; 

Can  hear  it  above  de  hurricane, 
An'  roar  of  de  rapide  down  below. 

Yes— yes — Pelang,  mon  cher  garcon! 

I  t'ink  of  you,  t'ink  of  you  night  an'  day, 
Don't  mak'  no  difference  seems  to  me 

How  long  de  tarn  you  was  gone  away. 


Mon  Choual  "  Castor' 


J 


T  'M  poor  man,  me,  but  I  buy  las'  May 

•*•      Wan  horse  on  de  Comp'nie  Passengaire, 

An'  auction  feller  w'at  sole  heem  say 

She  's  out  of  de  full-breed  "Messengaire." 
70 


MON  CHOUAL  "  CASTOR  " 

Good  trotter  stock,  also  galluppe, 
But  work  long  tarn  on  de  city  car, 

Of  course  she  's  purty  well  break  heem  up, 
So  come  leetle  cheap — twenty-wan  dollarre. 

Firs'  chance  I  sen'  heem  on  St.  Cesaire, 
Were  I  t'ink  he  's  have  moche  better  sight, 

Mebbe  de  grass  an'  de  contree  air 
Very  soon  was  feex  heem  up  all  right. 

I  lef '  heem  dere  till  de  fall  come  'long, 

An'  dat  trotter  he  can't  eat  grass  no  more, 

An'  w'en  I  go  dere,  I  fin'  heem  strong 
Lak  not'ing  I  never  see  before. 

I  heetch  heem  up  on  de  light  sulkee, 
L  'enfant !  dat  horse  he  is  cover  groun' ! 

Don't  tak'  long  tarn  for  de  crowd  to  see 
Mon  choual  he  was  leek  all  trotter  roun'. 

Come  down  de  race  course  lak'  oiseau 
Tail  over  datch  boar',  nice  you  please, 

Can't  tell  for  sure  de  quick  he  go, 

S  'pose  somew'ere  'bout  two,  t'ree  forties. 

I  treat  ma  frien'  on  de  whiskey  blanc, 

An'   we  drink   "Castor"   he's  bonne   sante" 

From  L'Achigan  to  St.  Armand, 

He  's  bes'  horse  sure  on  de  whole  comte". 


71 


MON  CHOUAL  "  CASTOR  " 

'Bout  week  on  front  of  dis,  Lalime, 

Dat  man  drive  horse  call  "Clevelan'  Bay" 
Was  challenge,  so  I  match  wit'  heem 

For  wan  mile  heat  on  straight  away. 

Dat  's  twenty  dollarre  on  wan  side, 

De  lawyer  's  draw  de  paper  out, 
Birt  if  dem  trotter  come  in  tied, 

Wall!  all  dat  monee  's  go  on  spout. 

Nex'  t'ing  ma  backer  man,  Labrie, 

Tak'    off   his    catch-book    vingt    cinq   cents, 
An'  toss  Lalime  bes'  two  on  free 

For  see  who  's  go  on  inside  fence. 

Bateese  Lalime,  he  's  purty  smart, 
An'  gain  dat  toss  wit'  jockey  trick. 

I  don't  care  me,  w'en  "Castor"  start, 
Very  soon  I  t'ink  he  's  mak'  heem  sick. 

Beeg  crowd  of  course  was  dere  for  see 
Dem  trotter  on  de  grand  match  race 

Some  people  come  from  St.  Remi 
An'  some  from  plaintee  'noder  place. 

W'en  all  is  ready,  flag  was  fall 

An'  way  dem  trotter  pass  on  fence 

Lak  not 'ing  you  never  see  at  all, 

It  mak'  me  t'ink  of  "St.  Lawrence."* 

*  "  St.  Lawrence,"  the  Canadian  "  Dexter." 
72 


MON  CHOUAL  "  CASTOR  " 

"Castor,"  hees  tail  was  stan'  so  straight 
Could  place  chapeau  on  de  en'  of  top 

An'  w'en  he  struck  two  forty  gait 
Don't  seem  he  's  never  go  for  stop. 

Wall !  dat  's  all  right  for  firs'  half  mile 

W'en   Clevelan'    Bay   commence    for   break, 

Dat  mak'  me  feel  very  moche  lak  smile, 
I  'm  sure  "Castor"  he  's  took  de  cake. 

But  Lalime  pull  heem  hard  on  line 
An'  stop  "Clevelan"'  before  go  far, 

It  's  all  no  good,  he  can't  ketch  mine 
I  'm  go  more  quicker  lak  express  car. 

I  'm  feel  all  right  for  my  monee, 

For  sure  mon  Choual  he  's  took  firs'  placer 
W  'en  'bout  arpent  from  home,  sapre*, 

Somet'ing  she  's  happen,   I  'm  los'  de 

Wan  bad  boy  he  's  come  out  on  track, 
I  cannot  see  dat  bad  boy's  han'; 

He  's  hoi'  somet'ing  behin'  hees  back, 
It  was  small  bell,  I  understan'. 

Can  spik  for  dat,  ma  horse  go  well, 
An'  never  show  no  sign  of  sweat, 

Until  dat  boy  he  's  ring  hees  bell — 
Misere!  I  t'ink  I  hear  heem  yet! 
73 


MON  CHOUAL  "  CASTOR  " 

Wall!  jus'  so  soon  mon  Choual  "Castor" 

Was   hear   dat   bell   go   kling!   klang!   kling! 

He  's  t  'ink  of  course  of  city  car, 
An'  s'pose  mus'  be  conductor  ring. 

Firs'  t'ing  I  know  ma  trotter  's  drop 
Dat  tail  was  stan'  so  straight  before, 

An'  affer  dat,  mebbe  he  stop 

For  me,  I  don't  know  not'ing  more. 

But  w'en  I  'm  come  alive  again 

I  fin'  dat  horse  call  "Clevelan'  Bay" 

Was  got  firs'  place,  an'  so  he  's  gain 
Dat  wan  mile  heat  on  straight  away. 

An'  now  w'erever  I  am  go 

Bad  boy  he  's  sure  for  holler  an'  yell 
Dis    done!     Dis    done!     Paul    Archambault! 

Wat's    matter    wit'    your    chestnutte    bell? 

Mak'  plaintee  troub'  dem  bad  garcons, 

An'  offen  ring  some  bell  also, 
Was  mad!     Could  plonge  on  de   St.    Laurent 

An'  w'at  to  do,  "Castor"  don't  know. 

Las'  tam  I  pass  de  railway  track 

For  drive  avec  mon  frere  Alfred, 
In-jinne  she's  ring,   "Castor"  he's  back, 

Monjee!    it  's    fonny    I  'm    not    come    dead! 
74 


OLE  TAM  ON  BORD-A  PLOUFFE 

Toujours  comme  ga !  an'  mak'  me  sick, 
But  horse  dat  work  long  on  les  chars 

Can't  broke  dem  off  on  fancy  trick 
So  now  I  'm  busy  for  sole  "  Castor. " 


Ole  Tarn  on  Bord-a  Plouffe 

T   LAK    on    summer  ev'ning,  w'en  nice  cool 

win'  is  blowin' 
An'  up  above  ma  head,  I  hear  de  pigeon  on 

de  roof, 
To  bring  ma  chair  an'  sit  dere,  an'  watch  de 

current  flowin' 

Of  ole  Riviere  des  Prairies  as  she  pass  de 
Bord-a  Plouffe. 


But  it  seem  dead  place  for  sure  now,  on  shore 

down  by  de  lan'in' — 
No  more  de  voyageurs  is  sing  lak  dey  was 

sing  alway — 
De    tree    dey    're    commence    growin'    w'ere 

shaintee  once  is  stan'in', 
An'  no  one  scare    de  swallow  w'en  she  fly 
across  de  bay. 

75 


OLE  TAM  ON  BORD-A  PLOUFFE 

I  don't  lak  see    de  reever  she  's  never  doin' 

not  'in' 
But  passin'  empty  ev'ry  day  on  Bout  de  1'ile 

below — 
Ma  ole  shaloup  dat  's  lyin'  wit'  all  its  timber 

rottin' 

An'  tarn  so  change  on  Bord-a  Plouffe  since 
forty  year  ago! 


De  ice  dat  freeze  on  winter,  might  jus'  as  well 

be  stay  dere, 
For  w'en  de  spring  she  's    comin'   de   only 

t'ing  I  see 
Is  two,  t'ree  piqnique  feller,  hees  girl  was  row 

away  dere, 

Don't   got  no  use  for  water  now,  on    Riviere 
des   Prairies. 


'T  was  diff  rent  on  dem  summer  you  could  n't 

see  de  reever, 
Wit'  saw-log  an'  squar'  timber  raf,  mos'  all 

de  season  t'roo — 
Two  honder  man  an'  more  too — all  busy  lak 

de  beaver, 

An'  me!     I  'm  wan  de  pilot  for  ronne  'em 
down  de  "Soo. " 
76 


OLE  TAM  ON  BORD-A  PLOUFFE 

Don't  'member  lak  I  use  to,  for  now  I  'm  get- 
tin'  ole,  me — 
But  still  I  can't  forget  Bill  Wade,  an'  Guil- 

laume  Lagasse, 
Joe  Monferrand,  Bazile  Montour — wit'  plaintee 

I  can't  tole,  me, 

An'  king  of  all  de   Bord-a   Plouffe,  M'sieu' 
Venance  Lemay. 


Lak  small  boy  on  hees  lesson,  I  learn  de  way 

to  han'le 
Mos'    beeges'    raf    is   never   float   upon    de 

Ottawaw, 
Ma  fader  show  me  dat  too,  for  well  he  know 

de  channel, 

From  Dutchman  Rapide  up  above  to  Bout 
de  1  'ile  en  bas. 


He  's  smart  man  too,  ma  fader,  only  t'ing  he 

got  de  bow-leg, 
Ridin'   log   w'en   leetle  feller,   mebbe    dat 's 

de  reason  w'y. 
All   de   sam',   if  he's   in   hurry,    den   Bagosh! 

he  's  got  heem  no  leg 

But  wing  an'  fedder  lak  oiseau,  was  fly  upon 
de  sky! 

77 


OLE  TAM  ON  BORD-A  PLOUFFE 

O  dat  was  tarn  we  're  happy,  an'  man  dey  're 

alway  singin', 
For  if  it  's  hard  work  on  de  raf,  w'y  dere  's 

your  monee  sure! 
An'  ev'ry  summer  evenin',  ole   Bord-a  Plouffe 

she  's   ringin' 

Wit'     "En    Roulant    ma    Boule"    an'     "J* 
aimerai  toujour. " 


Dere  dey  're  comin'  on  de  wagon !  fine  young 

feller  ev'ry  wan  too, 
Dress  im  up  de  ole  tarn  fashion,  dat  I  lak  for 

see  encore, 
Yellin'  hooraw!  t'roo  de  village,  all  de  horse 

upon  de  ronne  too, 

Ah  poor  Bord-a  Plouffe!  she  never  have  dem 
tam  again  no  more ! 


Very  off  en  w'en  I  'm  sleepin',  I  was  feel  as  if 

I  'm  goin' 
Down  de  ole  Riviere  des  Prairies  on  de  raf* 

de  sam  as  den — 
An'  ma  dream  is  only  lef  me,  w'en  de  rooster 

commence  crowin' 

But  it  can't  do  me  no  harm,  'cos  it  mak'  me 
young  again. 

78 


OLE  TAM  ON  BORD-A  PLOUFFE 

An'  upon  de  morning  early,  w'en  de  reever  fog 

is  clearin' 
An'  sun  is    makin'  up  hees   min'    for  drive 

away  de  dew, 
W'en  young  bird  want  hees  breakfas',  I  wak' 

an'  t'ink  I  'm  hearin' 

Somebody  shout  "Hooraw,  Bateese,  de  raf 
she  's  wait  for  you." 


Dat  's  voice  of  Guillaume  Lagasse*  was  call  me 

on  de  morning 
Jus'  outside  on  de  winder  w'ere  you    look 

across  de  bay, 
But  he's  drown  upon  de  Longue  "Soo, "  wit' 

never  word  of  warning 

An'  green  grass  cover  over  poor  Guillaume 
Lagasse. 


I  s'pose  dat  's  meanin'  somet'ing — mebbe  I  'm 

not  long  for  stay  here, 
Seein'  all  dem   strange  t'ing  happen — dead 

frien'  comin'  roun'  me  so — 
But  I  'm  sure  I  die  more  happy,  if  I  got  jus* 

wan  more  day  here, 

Lak  we  have  upon  de  ole  tam  Bord-a  Plouffe 
of  long  ago! 

79 


THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

The  Grand  Seigneur 

^T^O  the  hut  of  the  peasant,  or   lordly   hall, 
To  the  heart  of  the  king,    or   humblest 

thrall, 

Sooner  or  late,  love  comes  to  all, 
And  it  came  to  the  Grand  Seigneur,  my  dear, 
It  came  to  the  Grand  Seigneur. 


The  robins  were  singing  a  roundelay, 
And  the  air  was  sweet  with  the  breath  of  May, 
As  a  horseman  rode  thro'  the  forest  way, 
And  he  was  a  Grand  Seigneur,  my  dear, 
He  was  a  Grand  Seigneur. 


Lord  of  the  Manor,  Count  Belief ontaine, 
Had  spurr'd  over  many  a  stormy  plain 
With  gallants  of  France  at  his  bridle  rein, 
For  he  was  a  brave  Cavalier,  my  dear — 
He  was  a  brave  Cavalier. 


But  the  huntsman's  daughter,  La  Belle  Marie, 
Held  the  Knight's  proud  heart  in  captivity, 
And  oh !  she  was  fair  as  the  fleur  de  lys, 
Tho'  only  a  peasant  maid,  my  dear, 
Only  a  peasant  maid. 
80 


THE  GRAND  SEIGNEUR 

Thro*  the  woodland  depths  on  his  charger  grey 
To  the  huntsman's  cottage  he  rides  away, 
And  the  maiden  lists  to  a  tale  to-day 
TJaat  haughtiest  dame  might  hear,  my  dear, 
That  haughtiest  dame  might  hear. 


But  she  cried  "Alas!  it  may  never  be, 
For  my  heart  is  pledged  to  the  young  Louis, 
And  I  love  him,  O  Sire,  so  tenderly, 
Tho'  he  's  only  a  poor  Chasseur,  my  Lord, 
Only  a  poor  Chasseur. " 


"Enough,"  spake  the  Knight  with  a  courtly 

bow, 

"Be  true  to  thy  lover  and  maiden  vow, 
For  virtue  like  thine  is  but  rare,  I  trow, 
And  farewell  to  my  dream  of  love,  and  thee, 
Farewell  to  my  dream  of  thee, " 


And  they  say  the  gallant  Count  Bellefontaine 
Bestowed  on  the  couple  a  rich  domain, 
But  you  never  may  hear  such  tale  again, 
For  he  was  a  Grand  Seigneur,  my  dear, 

He  was  a  Grand  Seigneur! 
6  81 


M'SIEU   SMIT 

M'sieu  Smit',  The  Adventures  of  an 
Englishman  in  the  Canadian  Woods 

VKT'AN  morning  de  walkim  boss  say  "  Damase, 
I    t  'ink    you  're    good   man    on    canoe 
d'ecorce, 
So  I  '11  ax  you  go  wit'  your  frien'  Phileas 

An'   meet    M'sieu   Smit'   on   Chenail   W'ite 
Horse. 


"He'll  have  I  am  sure  de  grosse  baggage — 
Mebbe  some  valise — mebbe  six  or  t'ree — 

But  if  she  's  too  moche  for  de  longue  portage 
'Poleon  he  will  tak'  'em  wit'  mail  buggee." 


Wen  we  reach  Chenail,  plaintee  peep  be  dere, 
An'  wan  frien'  of  me,  call  Placide  Chretien, 

'Splain  all  dat  w'en  he  say  man  from  Angleterre 
Was  spik  heem  de  crowd  on  de  "Parisien. " 


Fonny   way   dat   Englishman   he  '11   be   dress  * 
Leetle   pant   my   dear   frien'   jus'    come    on 

knee, 

Wit'  coat  dat  's  no  coat  at  all — only  ves* 
An'  hat — de  more  stranger  I  never  see! 
82 


M'SIEU   SMIT' 

Wall!  dere  he  sit  on  de  en'  some  log 
An'  swear  heem  in  English  purty  loud 

Den  talk  Frangais,  w'ile  hees  chien  boule  dog 
Go  smellim  an'  smellim  aroun'  de  crowd. 

I   spik  im  "Bonjour,   M'sieu   Smit',    Bonjour,. 

I  hope  dat  yourse'f  and  famille  she  's  well?" 
M'sieu  Smit'  he  is  also  say  "Bonjour," 

An'  call  off  hees  dog  dat 's  commence  for 
smell. 

I  tell  heem  my  name  dat 's  Damase  Labrie 
I  am  come  wit'  Phileas  for  mak'  de  trip, 

An'  he  say  I  'm  de  firs'  man  he  never  see 
Spik  English  encore  since  he  lef   de  ship. 

He  is  also  ax  it  to  me  "  Damase, 

De  peep  she  don't  seem  understan'  Frangais, 
Wat's  matter  wit'  dat?"  An'  I  say  "Becos" 

You  mak'  too  much  talk  on  de  Parisien." 

De  groun*  she  is  pile  wit'  baggage — Sapre"! 

An'  I  see  purty  quick  we  got  plaintee  troub — 
Two  tronk,  t'ree  valise,  four-five  fusil, 

An'  w'at  M'sieu  Smit'  he  is  call  "bat*  tubbe." 

M  'sieu  Smit'  he  's  tole  me  w'at  for  's  dat  t'ing, 
An'  it  seem  Englishman  he  don't  feel  -correc' 

Until  he  's  go  plonge  on  some  bat'  morning 
An'  sponge  it  hees  possibill  high  hees  neck. 
83 


M'SIEU   SMIT 

Of  course  dat  's  not'ing  of  my  beez-nesse, 
He    can    plonge    on    de    water    mos'    ev'ry 

day, 
But  I  t'ink  for  mese'f  it  mak'  foolishness 

An'    don't   do  no    good    w'en    your    bonne 
sante. 

Wen  I  tell  'Poleon  he  mus*  mak'  dat  job, 
Dere  's  leetle  too  moche  for  canoe  d'ecorce, 

He's  mad  right  away  an'  say  "Sapre  diable! 
You  t'ink  I  go  work  lak  wan  niggerhorse? 

""I  'm  not  manufacture  dat  way,  ba  non, 

Dat  rich  stranger  man  he  have  lot  monee, 

I  go  see  my  frien'  Onesime  Gourdon, 

An'  tole  heem  bring  horse   wit'    some  more 
buggee. " 

Wall!  affer  some  w'ile  dey  '11  arrange  all  dat, 
'Poleon   an'    hees   frien'    Onesime    Gourdon, 

But  w'en  'Poleon  is  tak'  hole  of  bat', 

He    receive    it    beeg    scare    immediatement ! 


Dat  chien  boule  dog,   I  was  tole  you   'bout' 
I  ani  not  understan'  w  'at  good  she  's  for, 

Eat  'Poleon's  leg  w'it  hees  teet'  an'  mout, 
'Poleon  he  is  feel  very  mad — by  Gor! 

84 


M'SIEU   SMIT 

Of  course  I  am  poule  heem  hees  tail  toute  suite 
But  I  don't  know  some  reason  mak'  all  dis 
troub', 

Wen  I  hear  me  dat  Englishman,  M'sieu  Smit* 
Say  'Poleon,  w'at  for  you  took  my  tubbe? 

"Leff  'im  dere — for  I  don't  low  nobodee 
Walk  heem  off  on  any  such  way  lak  dat; 

You  may  tak'  all  de  res',  an'  I  don't  care  me — 
But  de  man  he  '11  be  keel  who  is  tak'  my 
bat'." 

"I  will  carry  heem  wit'  me, "  say  M 'sieu  Smit'— 
"W'erever  dat  tubbe  she  mus'   go,   I  go — 

No  matter  de  many  place  we  visite, 
An'  my  sponge  I  will  tak'  mese'f  also." 

Phileas  say  "Damase,  we  mus'  bull*  some  raf 
Or  mebbe  some  feller  be  sure  get  drown"; 

Dis  geev  me  plaisir,  but  I  'm  scare  mak'  laf, 
So  I  '11  do  it  mese'f,  inside,  way  down. 

At  las'  we  are  start  on  voyage,  sure  miff, 

M'sieu   Smit'   carry  tubbe  on  de  top  hees 

head, 
Good  job,  I  t'ink  so,  de  lac  is  n't  rough, 

Or  probably  dis  tarn,  we  're  all  come  dead. 
85 


M'SIEU  SMIT 

De  dog  go  wit'  Onesime  Gourdon, 
An'  Onesime  afferwar'  say  to  me, 

"Dat  chien  bonle  dog  is  eat  'Poleon 
Was  de  more  quiet  dog  I  never  see. " 

But  fun  she  's  commence  on  very  nex'  day 
Wen  we  go  camp  out  on  de  Castor  Noir. 

Dat  Englishman  he  '11  come  along  an'  say 
"I  hope  some  wil'  Injun  she  don't  be  dere. 

"I  have  hear  many  tarn,  dat  de  wood  be  foule 
Of  Injun  w'at  tak'  off  de  hair  your  head. 

But  so  surely  my  name  she  's  Johnnie  Boule 
If  I  see  use  dem  feller  I  shoot  it  dead. " 

Phileas  den  pray  harder,  more  quick  he  can 
Mebbe  he  's  t'ink  dat  's  hees  las'  portage 

De  moder  hees  fader,  she  's  Injun  man 
Derefore  an'  also,  he  is  wan  Sauvage. 

I  say  "Don't  mak'  it  some  excitement; 

Saison  she  is  '  close '  on  de  spring  an'  fall, 
An'  dem  peep  dat  work  on  de  Gouvernement 

Don't  lak  you  shoot  Injun  dis  mont'  at  all. 

Nex'  day  M'sieu  Smit'  is  perform  hees  plonge 
We  see  heem  go  done  it — Phileas  an'  me, 

An'  w'en  he  's  hang  up  bat'  tubbe  an'  sponge 
We  go  on  de  wood  for  mak'  Chasse  perdrix. 
36 


M'SIEU   SMIT 

An'  mebbe  you  will  not  believe  to  me, 

But  w'en  we  come  back  on  de  camp  encore 

De  sponge  of  dat  Englishman  don 't  be  see, 
An'  we  fin'  beeg  bear  she  's  go  dead  on  shore. 

Very  fonny  t'ing  how  he  's  loss  hees  life, 

But  Phileas  he  '11  know  hese'f  purty  quick, 

He   cut  M'sieu   Bear  wit'  hees  hunter  knife, 
An'  sponge  she  's  fall  out  on  de  bear  stummick. 

Day  affer  we  get  two  fox  houn'  from  Boss 

Dat  's  good  for  ketch  deer  on  de  fall  an'  spring. 

Den  place  Englishman  w'ere  he  can 't  get  los' 
An'  tole  heem  shoot  quicker  he  see  somet'ing. 

Wat  's  dat  leetle  deer  got  no  horn  at  all? 

She  '11  be  moder  small  wan  en  suite  bimeby. 
Don't  remember  mese'f  w'at  name  she  's  call. 

But  dat  's  de  kin'  start  w'en  de  dog  is  cry. 

We  see  heem  come  down  on  de  runaway 

De  dog  she  is  not  very  far  behin' 
An'  w'en  dey  pass  place  M'sieu  Smit'   is  stay 

We  expec'  he  will  shoot  or  make  noise  some  kin'  I 

But  he  's  not  shoot  at  all,  mon  cher  ami, 
So  we  go  an'  we  ax  "Is  he  see  some  deer?'* 

He  say  "  Dat 's  long  tarn  I  am  stay  on  tree 

But  I  don't  see  not'ing  she  's  pass  on  here.'* 
8? 


M'SIEU   SMIF 

We  spik  heem  once  more,  "He  dor't  see  fox 

houn'?" 

Wat  you  t'ink  he  is  say,  dat  Englishman? 
"Yes,  I  see  dem  pass  quickly,  upon  de  groun', 
Wan  beeg  yellow  dog,  an'  two  small  brown 
wan." 

He  's  feel  de  more  bad  I  don't  see  before 

Wen  he  know  dat  beeg  dog,  she  's  wan  small 
deer, 

An'  for  mak'  ev'ryt'ing  correc'  encore 
We  drink  I  am  sure  six  bouteilles  de  biere. 

Nex'  day — dat 's  Dimanche — he  is  spik  to  me, 
"Damase,  you  mus'  feel  leetle  fatigue, 

You  may  sle'p  wit'  Phileas  w  'ile  I  go  an'  see 
I  can't  get  some  nice  quiet  tarn  to-day. " 

So  for  keep  'way  skeeter,  an'  fly  also 

Bouteille  from  de  shelf  M'sieu  Smit'  he  tak', 
Den  he  start  wit'  his  chien  boule  dog  an'  go 

For  nice  quiet  walk  on  shore  of  lac. 

We  don't  sle'p  half  hour  we'n  dere  's  beeg,  beeg 

yell, 

Lak  somet'ing  I  'm  sure  don't  hear  long  tarn, 
An'  we  see  wan  feller  we  cannot  tell, 

Till   he    spik   it,    "Damase!     Phileas!!    dam 
dam!!! 

88 


M'SIEU  SMIT' 

Den  we  know  it  at  once  mon,  cher  ami, 

But  she  's  swell  up  hees  face — hees   neck  an*' 
han'! 

It  seem  all  de  skeeter  on  w'ole  contree 
Is  jump  on  de  head  of  dat  Englishman. 

Some  water  on  poor  M'sieu  Smit'  we  '11  t'row,. 

An'    w'en    he  's    tranquille    fin'    out    ev'ry- 

t'ing; 
Bouteille  he  's  rub  on,  got  some  nice  sirop 

I  was  mak'  mese'f  on  de  wood  las'   spring. 

Dere  was  jus'  'noder  t'ing  he  seem  for  care 

An'  den  he  is  feel  it  more  satisfy, 
Dat  t'ing,  my  dear  frien',  was  for  keel  some 
bear, 

If  he  '11  do  dat  wan  tam,  he  's  prepare  for  die.. 

Phile'as  say  he   know  w'ere  some  blue  berree 
Mak'  very  good  place  for  de  bear  have  fonne, 

So  we  start  nex'  day  on  morning  earlee, 

An'  M'sieu  Smit'  go  wit'  hees  elephan'  gun. 

Wan  woman  sauvage  she  is  come  be  dere, 

Mebbe  want  some  blue  berree  mak'   some 

pie, 

Dat'  Englishman  shoot,  he  is  t'ink  she  's  bear, 
An'    de   woman   she's   holler,    "Mon    Dieu, 
I'm  die!" 

89 


M'SIEU   SMIT' 

M  'sieu  Smit'  he  don't  do  no  harm,  becos 

He  is  shake  hese'f  w'en  he  shoot  dat  squaw, 

But  scare  he  pay  hunder'  dollar  cos' 

For  keel  some  sauvage  on  de  "close"  saison. 

T'ree  day  affer  dat,  we  start  out  on  lac 
For  ketch  on  de  water  wan  Cariboo, 

But  win'   she    blow  strong,   an'  we  can't  get 

back 
Till  we  t'row  ourse'f  out  on  dat  canoe. 

We  t'ink  M  'sieu  Smit'  he  is  sure  be  drown, 
Leetle  w'ile  we   can't    see    heem    again    no 
more, 

.An'  den  he  's  come  up  from  de  place  go  down 
An'  jomp  on  hees  bat'  tubbe  an'  try  go  shore. 

Wen  he  's  pass  on  de  bat',  he  say  "Hooraw!" 
An'   commence  right  away  for    mak'    some 

sing; 

I  'm  sure  you  can  hear  heem  ten-twelve  arpent 
'Bout  "Brittanie,  she  alway'  mus'  boss  some- 
t'ing." 

Dat 's  all  I  will  tole  you  jus'  now,  my  frien' ; 
I  s'pose  you  don't  know  de  more  fonny  case, 
But  if  Englishman  go  on  wood  again 

I  '11   have   more    storee  w'en   you    pass   my 
place. 

90 


WHEN  ALBANI  SANG 

When  Albani  Sang    v 

"\X7AS  workin'  away  on  de  farm  dere,  wan 

morning  not  long  ago, 
Feexin'  de  fence  for  winter — 'cos  dat  's  w'ere 

we  got  de  snow! 
Wen  Jeremie  Plouffe,  ma  neighbor,  come  over 

an'  spik  wit'  me, 
"Antoine,  you  will  come  on  de  city,  for  hear 

Ma-dam  All-ba-nee?" 

"Wat  you  mean?"  I  was  sayin'  right  off,  me, 

"Some  woman  was  mak'  de  speech, 
Or  girl  on  de  Hooraw  Circus,  doin'  high  kick 

an'  screech?" 
"Non — non, "     he     is     spikin' — "Excuse     me, 

dat 's  be  Ma-dam  All-ba-nee 
Was  leevin'  down  here  on  de  contree,  two  mile 

'noder  side  Chambly. 

"She's    jus'    comin'    over    from    Englan',    on 

steamboat  arrive  Kebeck, 
Singin'  on  Lunnon,  an'  Paree,  an'  havin'  beeg 

tam,  I  expec', 
But  no  matter  de  moche  she  enjoy  it,  for  travel 

all  roun'  de  worl', 
Somet'ing  on  de  heart  bring  her  back  here,  for 

she  was  de  Chambly  girl. 


WHEN  ALBANI  SANG 

"She  never  do  not'ing  but  singin*  an'  makin, 

de  beeg  grande  tour 
An'  travel  on  summer  an'  winter,  so  mus'  be 

de  firs'  class  for  sure! 
Ev'ryboddy  I  'm  t'inkin'  was  know  her,  an'  I 

also  hear  'noder  t'ing, 
She  's  frien'  on  La  Reine  Victoria  an'  show  her 

de  way  to  sing!" 


"Wall,"  I  say,  "you're  sure  she  is  Chambly, 
w'at  you  call  Ma-dam  All-ba-nee? 

Don't  know  me  dat  nam'  on  de  Canton — I 
hope  you  're  not  fool  wit'  me?" 

An'  he  say,  "Lajeunesse,  dey  was  call  her,  be- 
fore she  is  come  mariee, 

But  she  's  takin'  de  nam'  of  her  husban' — I 
s'pose  dat 's  de  only  way." 


"C'est  bon,  mon   ami,"  I  was  say  me,  "if  I 

get  t'roo  de  fence  nex'  day 
An'  she  don't  want  too  moche  on  de  monee, 

den  mebbe  I  see  her  play." 
So  I  finish  dat  job  on  to-morrow,  Jeremie  he 

was  helpin'  me  too, 
An'  I  say,  "Len'  me  t'ree  dollar  quickly   for 

mak'  de  voyage  wit'  you. " 
92 


WHEN  ALBANI  SANG 

Correc' — so  we  're  startin'   nex'   morning,   an* 

arrive  Montreal  all  right, 
Buy  dollar  tiquette  on  de  bureau,  an'  pass  on 

de  hall  dat  night. 
Beeg  crowd,  wall!  I  bet  you  was  dere  too,  all 

dress  on  some  fancy  dress, 
De   lady,  I  don 't  say  not'ing,  but  man  's  all 

w'ite  shirt  an'  no  ves'. 


Don't  matter,  w'en  ban'  dey  be  ready,  de  fore- 
man strek  out  wit'  hees  steek, 

An'  fiddle  an'  ev'ryt'ing  else  too,  begin  for 
play  up  de  musique. 

It  's  fonny  t'ing  too  dey  was  playin'  don't  lak 
it  mese'f  at  all, 

I  rader  be  lissen  some  jeeg,  me,  or  w'at  you 
call"  Afferde  ball." 


An'  I  'm  not  feelin'  very  surprise  den,  w'en  de 

crowd  holler  out,  "Encore," 
For  mak'   all    dem  feller   commencin'  an    try 

leetle  piece  some  more, 
'Twas  better  wan'  too,  I  be  t'inkin',  but  slow 

lak  you  're  goin'  to  die, 
All  de   sam',  noboddy  say  not'ing,  dat  mean 

dey  was  satisfy. 

93 


WHEN  ALBANI  SANG 

After  dat  come  de  Grande  piano,  lak  we  got  on 

Chambly  Hotel, 
She 's   nice   lookin'    girl   was   play   dat,    so   of 

course  she  's  go  off  purty  well, 
Den  feller  he  's  ronne  out  an'  sing  some,  it  's 

all  about  very  fine  moon, 
Dat  shine  on  Canal,  ev'ry  night  too,  I  'm  sorry 

I  don't  know  de  tune. 


Nex'  t'ing   I  commence   get  excite,  me,  for  I 

don't  see  no  great  Ma-dam  yet, 
Too  bad  I  was  los'  all  dat  monee,  an'  too  late 

for  de  raffle  tiquette! 
Wen  jus'  as  I  feel  very  sorry,  for  come  all  de 

way  from  Chambly, 
Jeremie  he  was  w'isper,  "Tiens,  Tiens,  prenez 

garde,  she's  comin'  Ma-dam  All-ba-nee!" 


Ev'ryboddy  seem  glad  w'en  dey  see  her,  come 

walkin'  right  down  de  platform, 
An'  way  dey  mak'  noise  on  de  han'  den,  w'y! 

it  's  jus'  lak  de  beeg  tonder  storm! 
I  '11  never  see  not'ing  lak  dat,  me,  no  matter 

I  travel  de  worl', 
An'  Ma-dam,  you  t  'ink  it  was  scare  her?     Non, 

she  laugh  lak  de  Chambly  girl ! 
94 


WHEN  ALBANI  SANG 

Dere  was  young  feller  comin'  behin'  her,  walk 

nice,  comme  un  Cavalier, 
An'  before  All-ba-nee  she  is  ready  an'  piano 

get  startin'  for  play, 
De    feller    commence    wit'    hees    singin'    more 

stronger  dan  all  de  res', 
1 1  'ink  he  's  got  very  bad  manner,  know  not  'ing 

at  all  politesse. 


Ma-dam,  I  s'pose  she  get  mad  den,  an'  before 

anyboddy  can  spik, 
She  settle  right  down  for  mak'  sing  too,  an' 

purty  soon  ketch  heem  up  quick, 
Den  she  's  kip  it  on  gainin'  an'  gainin',  till  de 

song  it  is  tout  finis, 
An'  w'en  she  is  beatin'  dat  feller,  Bagosh !  I  am 

proud  Chambly! 


I  'm  not  very  sorry  at  all,  me,  w'en  de  feller 

was  ronnin'  away, 
An'  man  he  's  come  out  wit'  de  piccolo,  an' 

start  heem  right  off  for  play, 
For  it 's  kin'  de  musique  I  be  fancy,  Jeremie 

he  is  lak  it  also, 
An'  wan  de  bes'  t'ing  on  dat  ev'ning  is  man 

wit'  de  piccolo! 


WHEN  ALBANI  SANG 

Den  mebbe  ten  minute  is  passin',  Ma-dam  she 

is  comin'  encore, 
Dis  tarn  all  alone  on  de  platform,  dat  feller 

don 't  show  up  no  more, 
An'  w'en  she  start  off  on  de  singin'  Jeremie 

say,   "Antoine,  dat 's  Frangais," 
Dis   give  us  more   pleasure,    I   tole  you,    'cos 

w'y?     We  're  de  pure  Canayen! 


Dat  song  I  will  never  forget  me,'  twas  song  of 

de  leetle  bird, 
W  'en  he  's  fly  from  it 's  nes'  on  de  tree  top, 

'fore  res'  of  de  worl'  get  stirred, 
Ma-dam  she  was  tole  us  about  it,  den  start  off 

so  quiet  an'  low, 
An'  sing  lak  de  bird  on  de  morning,  de  poor 

leetle  small  oiseau. 


I   'member  wan  tarn  I  be  sleepin'  jus'  onder 

some  beeg  pine  tree 
An  song  of  de  robin  wak'  me,  but  robin  he 

don't  see  me, 
Dere  's  not 'ing  for  scarin'  dat  bird  dere,  he  's 

feel  all  alone  on  de  worl', 
Wall!  Ma-dam  she  mus'  lissen  lak  dat  too,  w'en 

she  was  de  Chambly  girl! 
96 


WHEN  ALBANI  SANG 

'Cos  how  could  she  sing  dat  nice  chanson,  de 
sam'  as  de  bird  I  was  hear, 

Till  I  see  it  de  maple  an'  pine  tree  an'  Riche- 
lieu ronnin'  near, 

Again  I  'm  de  leetle  feller,  lak  young  colt  upon 
de  spring 

Dat  's  jus'  on  de  way  I  was  feel,  me,  w'en  Ma- 
dam All-ba-nee  is  sing! 


An'  affer  de  song  it  is  finish,  an'  crowd  is  mak' 

noise  wit'  its  han', 
I  s'pose  dey  be  t'inkin'  I  'm  crazy,  dat  mebbe 

I  don't  onderstan', 
Cos  I  'm  set  on  de  chair  very  quiet,  mese'f  an' 

poor  Jeremie, 
An'  I  see  dat  hees  eye  it  was  cry  too,  jus'  sam' 

way  it  go  wit'  me. 


Dere  's  rosebush  outside  on  our  garden,  ev'ry 

spring  it  has  got  new  nes,' 
But  only  wan  bluebird  is  buil'  dere,  I  know  her 

from  all  de  res', 
An'  no  matter  de  far  she  be  flyin'  away  on  de 

winter  tarn, 
Back  to  her  own  leetle  rosebush  she  's  comin' 

dere  jus'  de  sam'. 
7  97 


DE  CAMP  ON  DE  "  CHEVAL  GRIS  " 

We  're  not  de  beeg  place  on  our  Canton,  mebbe 

cole  on  de  winter,  too, 
But  de  heart's  "Canayen"  on  our  body,  an' 

dat  's-warm  enough  for  true! 
An'    w'en    All-ba-nee    was    got    lonesome    for 

travel  all  roun'  de  worl' 
I  hope  she  '11  come  home,  lak  de  bluebird  an' 

again  be  de  Chambly  girl! 


De  Camp  on  de  "  Cheval  Gris" 


'member  de  ole  log-camp,  Johnnie,  up 
on  de  Cheval  Gris, 
Were  we  work  so  hard  all   winter,  long  ago 

you  an'  me? 
Dere  was  fourteen  man  on  de  gang,  den,  all 

from  our  own  paroisse, 

An'   only    wan  lef   dem  feller    is  ourse'f    an' 
Pierre  Laframboise. 

But  Pierre  can't  see  on  de  eye,  Johnnie,  I  t'ink 

it 's  no  good  at  all ! 
An'  it  was  n't  for  not'ing  you  're  gettin'  rheu- 

mateez  on  de  leg  las'  fall ! 
I  t'ink  it 's  no  use  waitin',  for  neider  can  come 

wit'  me, 
So  alone  I  mak'  leetle  visit  dat  camp  on  de 

Cheval  Gris. 

98 


DE  CAMP  ON  DE  "  CHEVAL  GRIS  " 

An'  if  only  you  see  it,  Johnnie,  an'  change  dere 

was  all  aroun', 
Ev'ryt'ing  gone   but  de   timber  an'  dat  is  all 

fallin'  down; 
No  sign  of  portage  by  de  reever  w'ere  man  dey 

was  place  canoe, 
Wy',  Johnnie,  I  'm  cry  lak  de  bebe",  an'  I  'm 

glad  you  don 't  come,  mon  vieux ! 


But   strange  t 'ing's  happen  me  dere,  Johnnie, 

mebbe  I  go  asleep, 
As  I  lissen   de  song  of  de  rapide,  as  pas'  de 

Longue  Soo  she  sweep, 
Ma  head  she  go  biz-z-z  lak  de  sawmeel,  I  don't 

know  w'at  's  wrong  wit'  me, 
But  firs'  t'ing  I  don't  know  not'ing,    an'  den 

w'at  you  t'ink  I  see? 


Yourse'f  an'  res'  of  de  boy,  Johnnie,  by  light 

of  de  coal  oil  lamp, 
An     you  're     singin'    an'    tolin'    story,     sittin 

aroun'  de  camp, 
We  hear  de  win'  on  de  chimley,  an'  we  know 

it  was  beeg,  beeg  storm, 
But  ole  box  stove  she  is  roarin',  an'  camp's 

feelin'  nice  an'  warm. 
99 


DE  CAMP  ON  DE  "  CHEVAL  GRIS  " 

I  t'ink  you're  on  boar'  of  de  raf,  Johnnie, 

near  head  of  Riviere  du  Loup, 
Wen  LeRoy  an'  young  Patsy  Kelly  get  drown 

comin'  down  de  Soo, 
Wall!  I  see  me  dem  very  same  feller,  jus'  lak 

you  see  me  to-day, 
Playin'  dat  game  dey  call  checker,  de  game  dey 

was  play  alway! 


An1  Louis  Charette  asleep,  Johnnie,  wit'  hees 

back  up  agen  de  wall, 
Makin'    soche   noise   wit'   hees   nose,    dat   you 

.t'ink  it  was  moose  on  de  fall, 
I  s'pose  he  's  de  mos'  fattes'  man   dere  'cept 

mebbe  Bateese  La  Rue, 
But  if  I  mak  fonne  on  poor  Louis,  I  know  he 

was  good  boy  too! 


Wat  you  do  over  dere  on  your  bunk,  Johnnie, 

lightin'  dem  allumettes, 
Are  you  shame  'cos  de  girl  she  write  you,  is 

dat  de  las'  wan  you  get  ? 
It 's  fonny  you   can't  do  widout   it  ev'ry  tarn 

you  was  goin'  bed, 
Wy  readin'  dat  letter  so  offen,  you  mus'  have 

it  all  on  de  head ! 

100 


DE  CAMP  ON  DE  "  CHEVAL  GRIS  " 

Dat  's  de  very  sam'  letter,  Johnnie,  was  comin* 

t  'ree  mont'  ago, 
I  t'ink  I  know  somet'ing  about  it,  'cos  I  fin'  it 

wan  day  on  de  snow, 
An'  I  see  on  de  foot  dat  letter,  Philomene  she 

is  do  lak  dis:     *  *  * 
I  'm  not  very  moche  on  de  school,  me,  but  I 

t'ink  dat  was  mean  de  kiss. 


Wall!  nobody's  kickin*  de  row,  Johnnie,  an* 

if  allumettes'  fini, 
Put   Philomene  off  on  your  pocket,   an'   sing 

leetle  song  wit'  me ; 
For  don't  matter  de  hard  you  be  workin'  tou- 

jours  you  're  un  bon  garc.on, 
An'  nobody  sing  lak  our  Johnnie,  Kebeck  to 

de  Mattawa ! 


An'  it 's  den  you  be  let  her  go,  Johnnie,  till 

roof  she  was  mos'  cave  in, 
An'  if  dere  's  firs'  prize  on  de  singin',  Bagosh! 

you  're  de  man  can  win ! 
Affer  dat  come  fidelle  of  Joe  Pilon,  an'  he  's 

feller  can  make  it  play, 
So  we  're  clearin'   de  floor    right  off  den,  for 

have  leetle  small  danser. 
101 


DE  CAMP  ON  DE  "  CHEVAL  GRIS  " 

An'  w'en  dance  she  was  tout  finis,  Johnnie,  I 

go  de  sam'  bunk  wit'  you 
Were  we  sleep  lak  two  broder,  an'  dream  of 

de  girl  on  Riviere  du  Loup, 
Very  nice  ontil  somebody  call  me,  it  soun'  lak 

de  boss  Pelang, 
"Leve  toi,   Jeremie  ma   young  feller,   or   else 

you  '11  be  late  on  de  gang." 


An'  den  I  am  wak'  up,  Johnnie,  an'  w'ere  do 

you  t'ink  I  be? 
Dere  was  de  wood  an'  mountain,  dere  was  de 

Cheval   Gris, 
But  w'ere  is  de  boy   an'  musique  I  hear  only 

w'ile  ago? 
Gone  lak  de  flower  las'  summer,  gone  lak  de 

winter  snow ! 


An'  de  young  man  was  bring  me  up,  Johnnie, 

dat  's  son  of  ma  boy  Maxime, 
Say,    "Gran 'fader,    w'at    is    de    matter,    you 

havin'  de  bad,  bad  dream? 
Come  look  on  your  face  on  de  well  dere,  it  's 

w'ite  lak  I  never  see, 
Mebbe  't  was  better  you  're   stayin',   an'   not 

go  along  wit'  me." 


DE  CAMP  ON  DE  "  CHEVAL  GRIS" 

An'  w'en  I  look  down  de  well,  Johnnie,  an*  see 

de  ole  feller  dere, 
I  say  on  mese'f  "you  be  makin'   fou  Jeremie 

Chateau  vert, 
For  t'ink  you  're  gargon  agen.     Ha !   ha !  jus' 

'cos  you  are  close  de  eye, 
An'   only   commence  for    leevin'   w'en    you  're 

ready  almos'  for  die!" 


Ah!    dat 's  how  de  young  day  pass,  Johnnie, 

purty  moche  lak  de  t'ing  I  see, 
Sometam  dey  be  las'  leetle  longer,  sam'  as  wit* 

you  an'  me, 
But  no  matter  de  ole  we  're  leevin',  de  tarn 

she  must  come  some  day, 
Wen  boss  on  de   place  above,  Johnnie,  he  's 

callin'  us  all  away. 


I  'm  glad  I  was  go  on  de   camp,  Johnnie,   I 

t'ink  it  will  do  me  good, 
Mebbe  it 's  las'  tarn  too,  for  sure,  I  '11  never 

pass  on  de  wood, 
For  I  don't  expec'  moche  longer  ole  Jeremie 

will  be  lef, 
But  about  w'at    I  see  dat  day,  Johnnie,  tole 

nobody  but  yourse'f. 
103 


DE  STOVE  PIPE  HOLE  -• 

De  Stove  Pipe  Hole 

r\AT  's  very  cole  an'  stormy   night  on  Vil- 

lage  St.  Mathieu, 
Wen  ev'ry  wan  he  's  go  couche",  an'  dog  was 

quiet,  too — 
Young  Dominique  is  start  heem  out  see  Em- 

meline  Gourdon, 

Was  leevin'  on  her  fader's  place,  Maxime  de 
Forgeron. 

Poor     Dominique    he 's    lak     dat     girl,     an' 

love  her  mos'  de  tarn, 
An'  she  was  mak'  de  promise — sure — some  day 

she  be  his  famme, 
But  she  have  worse  ole  fader  dat 's  never  on  de 

worl', 
Was    swear   onless    he 's  riche  lak  diable,   no 

feller  's  get  hees  girl. 

He  's  mak'  it  plaintee  fuss  about  hees  daughter 

Emmeline, 
Dat 's  mebbe  nice  girl,  too,  but  den,  Mon  Dieu, 

she  's  not  de  queen ! 
An'   w'en  de  young  man's   come  aroun'   for 

spark  it  on  de  door, 
An'  hear  de  ole  man  swear  "Bapteme!"  he's 

never  come  no  more. 
104 


DE  STOVE  PIPE  HOLE 

Young  Dominique  he  's  sam'  de  res', — was  scare 

for  ole  Maxime, 
He  don't  lak  risk  hese'f  too  moche  for  chances 

seein'  heem, 
Dat  's  only  stormy  night  he  come,  so  dark  you 

cannot  see, 
An  dat  's  de  reason  w'y  also,  he  's  climb  de 

gallerie. 


De   girl   she  's   waitin'   dere    for   heem — don't 

care  about  de  rain, 
So  glad  for  see  young  Dominique  he  's  comin' 

back  again, 
Dey  bote  forget  de  ole  Maxime,  an'  mak   de 

embrasser 
An  affer  dey  was  finish  dat,  poor  Dominique  is 

say — 


"Good-bye,    dear    Emmeline,    good-bye;    I'm 

goin'  very  soon, 
For  you  I  got  no  better  chance,  dan  feller  on  de 

moon — 
It 's  all  de  fault  your  fader,  too,  dat  I  be  go 

away, 
He  's  got  no  use  for  me  at  all — I  see  dat  ev'ry 

day. 

105 


DE  STOVE  PIPE  HOLE 

"He  's  never  meet  me  on  de  road  but  he  is  say 

'SapreT 
An'  if  he  ketch  me  on  de  house  I  'm  scare  he  's 

killin'  me, 
So  I    mus'  lef  ole  St.  Mathieu,  for  work  on 

'noder  place, 
An'  till  I  mak  de  beeg  for-tune,  you  never  see 

ma  face." 


Den  Emmeline  say  "Dominique,  ma  love 
you  '11  alway  be 

An'  if  you  kiss  me  two,  t'ree  tam  I  '11  not  tole 
noboddy — 

But  prenez  garde  ma  fader,  please,  I  know 
he  's  get  tin'  ole — 

All  sam'  he  offen  walk  de  house  upon  de  stock- 
in'  sole. 


"Good-bye,     good-bye,      cher     Dominique!     I 

know  you   will   be  true, 
I  don't  want  no  riche  feller  me,  ma   heart  she 

go  wit'  you," 
Dat  's  very  quick  he  's  kiss  her  den,  before  de 

fader  come, 
But     don't    get    too    moche   pleasurement — so 

'fraid  de  ole  Bonhomme. 
1 06 


DE  STOVE  PIPE  HOLE 

Wall!  jus'  about   dey  're  half  way  t'roo  wit  all 

dat  love  beez-nesse 
Emmeline  say,   "Dominique,  w'at    for  you're 

scare  lak  all  de  res'? 
Don't  see  mese'f  moche  danger  now  de  ole  man 

comearoun'," 
Wen  minute  affer  dat,  dere  's  noise,  lak'  house 

she  's  fallin'  down. 


Den  Emmeline  she  holler  "Fire!   will  no  wan 

come  for  me?" 
An  Dominique  is  jomp  so  high,  near  bus'  de 

gallerie, — 
"Help!    help!     right    off,"    somebody    shout, 

"I  'm  killin'  on  ma  place, 
It 's  all  de  fault  ma  daughter,   too,   dat  girl 

she's  ma  disgrace." 


He  's  kip  it  up  long  tarn  lak  dat,  but  not  hard 

tellin'  now, 
W'at 's    all    de  noise    upon    de   house — who  's 

kick  heem   up  de   row? 
It  seem  Bonhomme  was  sneak  aroun'  upon  de 

stockin'  sole, 
An'  firs'    t'ing  den  de  ole  man  walk  right  t'roo 

de   stove   pipe   hole. 
107 


DE  STOVE  PIPE  HOLE 

Wen  Dominique  is  see   heem  dere,  wit'  wan 

leg  hang  below, 
An'   'noder  leg  straight  out  above,  he  's  glad 

for  ketch  heem  so — 
De  ole  man  can't  do  not'ing,  den,  but  swear 

and  ax   for  w'y 
Noboddy  tak'  heem  out  dat  hole  before  he  's 

comin'  die. 


Den  Dominique  he  spik  lak  dis,  "Mon  cher 
M'sieur  Gourdon 

I  'm  not  riche  city  feller,  me,  I  'm  only  habi- 
tant, 

But  I  was  love  more  I  can  tole  your  daughter 
Emmeline, 

An'  if  I  marry  on  dat  girl,  Bagosh !  she  's  lak  de 
Queen. 


"I  want  you  mak  de  promise  now,  before  it 's 

come  too  late, 
An'  I  mus'  tole  you  dis  also,  dere  's  not  moche 

tam  for  wait. 
Your  foot  she 's  hangin'   down   so  low,   I  'm 

'fraid  she   ketch   de  cole, 
Wall!  if  you  give  me  Emmeline,  I  pull  you  out 

de  hole." 

1 08 


DE  STOVE  PIPE  HOLE 

Dat  mak'  de  ole  man  swear  more  hard  he  never 

swear  before, 
An'  wit'  de  foot  he  's  got  above,  he  's  kick  it 

on  de  floor, 
"Non,    non, "    he    say    "Sapre*    tonnerre!    she 

never  marry  you, 
An'  if  you  don't  look  out  you  get  de  jail  on 

St.  Mathieu. " 


"Correc',"  young  Dominique  is  say,  "mebbe 

de  jail 's  tight  place, 
But  you  got  wan  small  corner,  too,  I  see  it  on 

de  face, 
So  if  you  don't  lak   geev  de  girl  on  wan  poor 

habitant, 
Dat 's    be  mese'f,    I   say,    Bonsoir,   mon   cher 

M'sieur  Gourdon. " 


"Come  back,  come  back,"  Maxime  is  shout — 

"I  promise  you  de  girl, 
I  never  see  no  wan  lak  you — no  never  on  de 

worl'! 
It 's  not  de  nice  trick  you  was  play  on  man 

dat  's  gettin'  ole, 
But  do  jus'  w'at  you  lak,  so  long  you  pull   me 

out  de  hole." 

109 


"  DE  SNOWBIRD  " 

"Hooraw!  Hooraw!"     Den  Dominique  is  pull 

heem  out  tout  suite 
An'  Emmeline  she  's  helpin'  too  for  place  heem 

on  de  feet, 
An'  affer  dat  de  ole  man  's  tak'  de  young  peep 

down  de  stair, 
Were  he  is  go  couch£  right  off,  an'  dey  go  on 

parloir. 

Nex'  Sunday  morning  dey  was  call  by  M'sieur 
le  Cure. 

Get  marry  soon,  an'  ole  Maxime  geev  Emme- 
line away ; 

Den  affer  dat  dey  settle  down  lak  habitant  is 
do, 

An'  have  de  mos'  fine  familee  on  Village  St. 
Mathieu. 


"De  Snowbird" 

LEETLE    bird    dat 's    come   to  us   w'en 
stormy  win'  she  's  blowin', 
An'  ev'ry  fiel'  an'  mountain  top  is  cover  wit* 

de  snow, 
How  far  from  home  you  're  flyin',  noboddy  's 

never  knowin' 

For  spen'  wit'  us  de  winter  tam,  mon  cher 
petit  oiseau ! 

no 


"DE  SNOWBIRD" 

We  alway  know  you  're  comin',  w'en  we  hear 

de  firs'  beeg  storm, 
A  sweepin'  from  de  sky  above,  an'  screamin' 

as  she  go — 
Can  tell  you  're  safe  inside  it,   w  'ere  you  're 

keepin'  nice  an'  warm, 

But  no  wan  's  never  see  you  dere,  mon  cher 
petit  oiseau! 


Was  it  'way  behin'  de  mountain,  dat  de  nort' 

win'  ketch  you  sleepin' 
Mebbe  on  your  leetle  nes'  too,  an'  before  de 

wing  she  grow, 
Lif  you  up  an'  bring  you  dat  way,  till  some 

morning   fin'  you  peepin' 
Out  of  new  nes'  on  de  snow  dreef ,  mon  pauv' 
petit  oiseau ! 


All  de  wood  is  full  on  summer,  wit*  de  many 

bird  is  sing  dere, 
Dey  mus'  offen  know  each  oder,  mebbe  mak' 

de  frien'  also, 
But  w  'en^  you  was  come  on  winter,  never  seein' 

wan  strange  wing  dere 

Was  it  mak'  you  feelin'  lonesome,  mon  pauv' 
petit  oiseau? 

in 


"  DE  SNOWBIRD  " 

Plaintee  bird  is  alway  hidin'  on  some  place  no 

wan  can  fin'  dem, 
But  ma  leetle  bird  of  winter,  dat  was  not  de 

way  you  go — 
For  de  chil'ren  on  de  roadside,  you  don't  seem 

to  care  for  min'  dem 

Wen  dey  pass  on  way  to  schoolhouse,  mon 
cher  petit  oiseau ! 


No  wan  say  you  sing  lak  robin,  but  you  got  no 

tarn  for  singin' 
So  busy  it  was  keepin'  you  get  breakfas'  on 

de  snow, 
But  de  small  note  you  was  geev  us,  w'en  it  join 

de  sleigh  bell  ringin' 

Mak'  de  true  Canadian  music,  mon  cher  petit 
oiseau ! 


O  de  long  an'  lonesome  winter,  if  you  're  never 

comin'  near  us' 
If  we  miss  you  on  de  roadside,  an'  on  all  de 

place  below! 
But  le  bon  Dieu  he  will  sen'  you  troo  de  storm 

again  for  cheer  us, 

W'en  we  mos'  was  need  you  here  too,  mon 
cher  petit  oiseau! 

112 


THE  HABITANT'S  JUBILEE  ODE 

The  Habitant's  Jubilee  Ode 

T  READ  on  de  paper  mos'  ev'ry  day,  all  about 

Jubilee 
An'  grande  procession  movin'  along,  an'  passin' 

across  de  sea, 
Dat  's  chil'ren  of  Queen  Victoriaw  comin'  from 

far    away 
For  tole    Madame  w'at  dey  t'ink  of  her,  an* 

wishin'  her  bonne  sante. 

An'  if  any  wan  want  to    know  pourquoi  les 

Canayens  should  be  dere 
Wit'  res'  of  de  worl'  for  shout  "Hooraw"  an' 

t'row  hees  cap  on  de  air, 
Purty  quick  I  will  tole  heem  de  reason,  w'y  we 

feel  lak  de  oder  do, 
For  if  I  'm  only  poor  habitant,  I  'm  not  on  de 

sapre"  fou. 

Of    course  w'en  we  t'ink  it  de  firs'  go  off,  I 

know  very  strange  it   seem 
For  fader  of  us  dey  was  offen  die  for  flag  of 

L'Ancien  Regime. 
From  day  w'en  de  voyageurs  come  out  all  de 

way  from  ole  St.  Malo, 
Flyin'  dat  flag  from  de  mas'  above,  an'  long 

affer  dat  also. 
s  113 


THE  HABITANT'S  JUBILEE  ODE 

De  English  fight  wit'  de  Frenchman  den  over 

de  whole  contree, 
Down  by  de  reever,  off  on  de  wood,  an'  out  on 

de  beeg,  beeg  sea, 
Killin'  an'  shootin',  an'  raisin'  row,  half  tam 

dey  don't  know  w'at  for, 
Wen  it  's  jus'    as  easy  get   settle  down,   not 

makin'  de  crazy  war. 


Sometam'   dey   be  quiet  for  leetle  w'ile,    you 

t'ink  dey  don't  fight  no  more, 
An'    den  w'en   dey 're   feelin'   all   right    agen, 

Bang!  jus'  lak'  she  was  before. 
Very   offen   we  're   beatin'    dem   on    de   fight, 

sometam'  dey  can  beat  us,  too, 
But  no  feller  's  scare  on  de  'noder  man,  an' 

bote  got  enough  to  do. 


An'  all  de  long  year  she  be  go  lak'  dat,  we 

never   was   know   de   peace, 
Not'ing  but  war  from  de  wes'  contree  down  to 

de  St.  Maurice; 
Till   de  las'   fight  's  comin'   on   Canadaw,   an' 

brave  Generale   Montcalm 
Die  lak'  a  sojer  of  France  is  die,  on  Battle  of 

Abraham. 

114 


THE  HABITANT'S  JUBILEE  ODE 

Dat  's  finish  it  all,  an'  de  English  King  is  axin' 

us  stayin'  dere 
Were  we  have  sam'  right  as  de  'noder  peep 

comin'  from  Angleterre. 
Long  tarn'  for  our  moder  so  far  away  de  poor 

Canayens  is  cry, 
But  de  new  step-moder  she  's  good  an'  kin', 

an'  it 's  all  right  bimeby. 


If  de  moder  come  dead  w  'en  you  're  small  garcon 

leavin'  you  dere  alone, 
Wit'  nobody  watchin'  for  fear  you  fall,  an  hurt 

youse'f  on  de  stone, 
An'  'noder  good  woman  she  tak'  your  han*  de 

sam'    your   own   moder    do, 
Is  it  right  you  don't  call  her  moder,  is  it  right 

you  don't  love  her  too? 


B4  non,  an'  dat  was  de  way  we  feel,  w'en  de 
ole  Regime  's  no  more, 

An'  de  new  wan  come,  but  don't  change 
moche,  w'y  it 's  jus'  lak'  it  be  before. 

Spikin'  Frangais  lak'  we  alway  do,  an'  de  Eng- 
lish dey  mak  no  fuss, 

An'  our  law  de  sam',  wall,  I  don't  know  me, 
't  was  better  mebbe  for  us. 


THE  HABITANT'S  JUBILEE  ODE 

So   de   sam'    as   two  broder   we   settle   down, 

leevin'  dere  han'  in  han', 
Knowin'  each  oder,  we  lak'  each  oder,  de  French 

an'  de  Englishman, 
For  it  's  curi's  t'ing  on  dis  worl',  I  'm  sure  you 

see  it  agen  an'   agen, 
Dat  ofEen  de  mos'  worse  ennemi,  he  's  comin' 

de  bes',  bes'  Men'. 


So  we  're  kipin'  so  quiet   long  affer  dat,  w'en 

las'  of  de  fightin's  done, 
Dat  plaintee  is  say,  de  new  Canayens  forget 

how  to  shoot  de  gun; 
But  Yankee  man  's  smart,  all  de  worl'  know 

dat,  so  he  's  firs'  fin'  mistak'  wan  day 
Wen  he  's  try  cross  de  line,  fusil  on  hee's  han', 

near  place  dey  call  Chateaugay. 


Of  course  it 's  bad  t'ing  for  poor  Yankee  man, 

De  Salaberry  be  dere 
Wit'   habitant  farmer  from   down  below,   an' 

two    honder    Voltigeurs, 
Dem  feller  come  off   de   State,   I  s'pose,   was 

fightin'   so   hard   dey   can 
But  de  blue  coat  sojer  he  don't  get  kill,  is   de 

locky  Yankee  man! 
116 


THE  HABITANT'S  JUBILEE  ODE 

Since  den  w'en  dey're  comin'  on  Canadaw,  we 

alway  be  treat  dem  well, 
For    dey  're    spennin'    de    monee    lak'    gentil- 

hommes,  an'  stay  on  de  bes'  hotel, 
Den  "Bienvenu, "  we  will  spik  dem,  an'  "Come 

back  agen  nex'  week, 
So  long  you  was  kip  on  de  quiet  an'  don't  talk 

de  politique!" 


Yass,    dat   is   de  way  Victoriaw  fin*    us    dis 

jubilee, 
Sometam'    we    mak'   fuss   about  not'ing,    but 

it 's   all   on  de  familee, 
An'    w'enever    dere  's    danger    roun'    her,    no 

matter   on   sea   or   Ian', 
She  '11   find   that   les    Canayens   can   fight   de 

sam'  as  bes'  Englishman. 


An'   onder  de  flag  of  Angleterre,   so  long  as 

dat   flag    was    fly — 
Wit'  deir  English  broder,  les  Canayens  is  satisfy 

leev  an'  die. 
Dat 's  de  message  our  fader  geev  us  w'en  dey 

're  fallin'  on  Chateaugay, 
An'  de  flag  was  kipin'  dem  safe  den,  dat 's  de 

wan  we  will  kip  alway! 
117 


OLE  DOCTEUR  FISET 

Ole  Docteur  Fiset 

E  Docteur  Fiset  of  Saint  Anicet, 
Sapre  tonnerre !  he  was  leev  long  tarn ! 
I  'm  .sure  he  's  got  ninety  year  or  so, 
Beat  all  on  de  Parish  'cept  Pierre  Courteau, 
An'  day  after  day  he  work  all  de  sam'. 

Dat  house  on  de  hill,  you  can  see  it  still, 

She  's  sam'  place  he  buil'  de  firs'  tarn'  he  come 

Behin'  it  dere  's  one  leetle  small  jardin 

Got  plaintee  de  bes'  tabac  Canayen 

Wit'  fameuse  apple  an'  beeg  blue  plum. 

An'  dey  're  all  right  dere,  for  de  small  boy's 
scare 

No  matter  de  apple  look  nice  an'  red, 
For  de  small  boy  know  if  he  's  stealin'  some 
Den   Docteur   Fiset   on   dark  night   he   come, 

An'  cut  leetle  feller  right  off  hees  head! 

JBut  w'en  dey  was    rap,  an'   tak'   off  de  cap, 
M'sieu'   le   Docteur    he   will   say    "Entrez, " 
Den  all  de  boy  pass  on  jardin  behin' 
Were  dey  eat  mos'    ev'ryt'ing   good   dey  fin', 
Till  dey  can't  go  on  school  nearly  two,  free 
day. 

118 


OLE  DOCTEUR  FISET 

But  Docteur  Fiset,  not  moche  fonne  he  get, 

Drivin'  all  over  de  whole  contree, 
If  de  road  she  's  bad,  if  de  road  she  's  good, 
Wen   ev'ryt'ing  's    drown   on    de    Spring-tarn, 
flood, 

An'  workin'  for  not'ing  half  tarn'  mebbe! 

Let  her  rain  or  snow,  all  he  want  to  know 

Is  jus'  if  anywan  's  feelin'  sick, 
For  Docteur  Fiset 's  de  ole  fashion  kin' 
Doin'    good  was    de  only    t'ing  on  hees   min* 

So  he  got  no  use  for  de  politique. 


An'  he  's  careful  too,  'cos  firs'  t'ing  he  do, 

For  fear  dere  was  danger  some  fever  case, 
Is  tak'  w'en  he  's  come  leetle  w'isky  chaud, 
Den  'noder  wan  too  jus'  before  he  go, 

He  's  so  scare  carry  fever  aroun'  de  place  I 

On    nice    summer    day    w'en    we  're    makin' 

hay 
Dere  's  not  'ing  more  pleasant  for  us    I  'm 

sure 

Dan  see  de  ole  man  come  joggin'  along, 
Alway  singin'  some  leetle  song, 

An'  hear  heem  say  "Tiens,  mes  amis,  Bon 
jour!" 

119 


OLE  DOCTEUR  FISET 

An'   w'en  de  cole  rain  was  commence  again 
An'   we  're  sittin'   at  home  on  some  warm 

cornerre, 

If  we  hear  de  buggy  an'  see  de  light 
Tearin'  along  t'roo  de  black,  black  night, 

We  know  right  off  dat  's  de  ole   Docteur ! 

An'  he's  smart  horse  sure,  w'at  he  call  "Fau- 
bourg," 

Ev'ry  place  on  de  Parish  he  know  dem  all, 
An'  you  ought  to  see  de  nice  way  he  go 
Por  fear  he  's  upsettin'  upon  de  snow, 

W'en  ole  man  's  asleep  on  de  cariole! 

I  'member  w'en  poor  Hormisdas  Couture 

Get  sick  on  hees  place  twenty  mile  away 

An'  hees  boy  Ovide  he  was  come  "Raquette" 

W'at  you  call  "Snowshoe, "  for  Docteur  Fiset, 

An'    Docteur   he   start   wit'   hees   horse   an' 

sleigh. 

All    de    night    before,    de    beeg     storm     she 

roar, 

An'  mos'  of  de  day  it 's  de  sam*  also, 
De  drif '  was  pilin'  up  ten  feet  high 
You  can't  see  not'ing  dis  side  de  sky, 
Not'ing  but  wan  avalanche  of  snow. 
120 


OLE  DOCTEUR  FISET 

I  'm  hearin'  de  bell  w'en  I  go  on  de  well 

For  water  de  cattle  on  barn  close  by, 
But  I  only  ketch  sight  of  hees  cheval  blanc 
An'  hees  coonskin  coat  wit'  de  capuchon 
An'  de  storm  tak'  heem  off,  jus'  de  sam'  he  fly. 

Mus'  be  le  Bon  Dieu   dat  is  help  him  t'roo, 
Ole    Docteur    Fiset    an'    hees    horse    "Fau- 
bourg," 
'T  was  somet'ing  for   splain-me,  wall  I  don't 

care, 

But  somehow  or  'noder  he  's  gettin'  dere, 
An'  save  de  life  Hormisdas  Couture. 

But  it 's  sam'  alway,  lak'  dat  ev'ry  day, 

He  never  was  spare  hese'f  pour  nous  autres, 

He   don't  mak'  moche  monee,  Docteur  Fiset, 

An'  off  en  de  only  t'ing  he  was  get 

Is  de  prayer  of  poor  man,  an'  wan  bag  of  oat. 


Wall !  Docteur  Fiset  of  Saint  Anicet 

He  is  not  dead  yet !  an'  I  'm  purty  sure 
If  you  're  passin'  dat  place  about  ten  year  more 
You  will  see  heem  go  roun'  lak  he  go  before 
Wit'    de   ole   cariole  an'   hees   horse   "Fau- 
bourg!" 

121 


JOHNNIE   COURTEAU 

Johnnie    Courteau 

JOHNNIE  COURTEAU  of  de  mountain 
Johnnie  Courteau  of  de  hill 
Dat  wasv  de  boy  can  shoot  de  gun 
Dat  was  de  boy  can  jomp  an'  run 
An'  it 's  not  very  offen  you  ketch  heem  still 

Johnnie  Courteau! 

Ax  dem  along  de  reever 

Ax  dem  along  de  shore 

Who  was  de  mos'  bes'  fightin'  man 

From  Managance  to  Shaw-in-i-gan? 

De  place  w'ere  de  great  beeg  rapide  roar, 

Johnnie  Courteau! 

Sam'  t'ing  on  ev'ry  shaintee 

Up  on  de  Mekinac 

Who  was  de  man  can  walk  de  log, 

W'en  w'ole  of  de  reever  she  's  black  wit'  fog 

An'  carry  de  beeges'  load  on  hees  back? 

Johnnie  Courteau! 

On  de  rapide  you  want  to  see  heem 

If  de  raf  she  's  swingin'  roun' 

An'  he  's  yellin'  "Hooraw  Bateese!  good  man!" 

W'y  de  oar  come  double  on  hees  han' 

W'en  he  's  makin'  dat  raf  go  flyin'  down 

Johnnie  Courteau! 

122 


JOHNNIE   COURTEAU 

An'  Tete  de  Boule  chief  can  tole  you 

De  feller  w'at  save  hees  life 

Wen  beeg  moose  ketch  heem  up  a  tree 

Who  's  shootin'  dat  moose  on  de  head,  sapree! 

An'  den  run  off  wit'  hees  Injun  wife? 

Johnnie  Courteau  I 

An'  he  only  have  pike  pole  wit'  heem 
On  Lac  a  la  Tortue 

Wen  he  meet  de  bear  comin'  down  de  hill 
But  de  bear  very  soon  is  get  hees  fill ! 
An'  he  sole  dat  skin  for  ten  dollar  too, 

Johnnie  Courteau! 


Oh  he  never  was  scare  for  not 'ing 

Lak  de  ole  coureurs  de  bois, 

But  w'en  he  's  gettin'  hees  winter  pay 

De  bes'  t'ing  sure  is  kip  out  de  way 

For  he  's  goin'  right  off  on  de  Hip  Hooraw! 

Johnnie  Courteau! 


Den  pullin'  hees  sash  aroun'  heem 

He  dance  on  hees  botte  sauvage 

An'  shout  "All  aboar'  if  you  want  to  fight!" 

Wall !  you  never  can  see  de  finer  sight 

Wen  he  go  lak  dat  on  de  w'ole  village! 

Johnnie  Courteau! 
123 


JOHNNIE   COURTEAU 

But  Johnnie  Courteau  get  marry 

On  Philomene  Beaurepaire 

She  's  nice  leetle  girl  was  run  de  school 

On  w'at  you  call  Parish  of  Sainte  Ursule 

An'  he  see  her  off  on  de  pique-nique  dere 

Johnnie  Courteau! 


Den  somet'ing  come  over  Johnnie 
Wen  he  marry  on  Philomene 
For  he  stay  on  de  farm  de  w'ole  year  roun' 
He  chop  de  wood  an'  he  plough  de  groun' 
An'  he  's  quieter  feller  was  never  seen, 

Johnnie  Courteau! 

An'  ev'ry  wan  feel  astonish 

From  La  Tuque  to  Shaw-in-i-gan 

Wen  dey  hear  de  news  was  goin'  aroun' 

Along  on  de  reever  up  an'  down 

How  wan  leetle  woman  boss  dat  beeg  man 

Johnnie  Courteau  t 

He  never  come  out  on  de  evening 

No  matter  de  hard  we  try 

'Cos  he  stay  on  de  kitchen  an'  sing  hees  song 

"A  la  claire  fontaine, 

M'en  allant  promener, 

J'ai  trouve*  1'eau  si  belle 
124 


THE  CORDUROY  ROAD 

Que  je  m'y  suis  baigner ! 

Lui  y'a  longtemps  que  je  t'aime 

Jamais  je  ne  t'oublierai." 

Rockin'  de  cradle  de  w'ole  night  long 
Till  baby  's  asleep  on  de  sweet  bimeby 

Johnnie  Courteau! 

An'  de  house,  wall!  I  wish  you  see  it 

De  place  she  's  so  nice  an*  clean 

Mus'  wipe  your  foot  on  de  outside  door, 

You  're  dead  man  sure  if  you  spit  on  de  floor, 

An'  he  never  say  not'ing  on  Philomene, 

Johnnie  Courteau! 

An'  Philomene  watch  de  monee 

An'  put  it  all  safe  away 

On  very  good  place;  I  dunno  w'ere 

But  anyhow  nobody  see  it  dere 

So  she  's  buyin'  new  farm  de  noder  day 

MADAME  Courteau ! 


The  Corduroy  Road 

r\E  corduroy  road  go  bompety  bomp, 

De  corduroy  road  go  jompety  jomp, 
An'  he  's  takin'  beeg  chances  upset  hees  load 
De  horse  dat  '11  trot  on  de  corduroy  road. 
125 


THE  CORDUROY  ROAD 

Of  course  it  's  purty  rough,  but  it  's  handy  t'ing 

enough 

An'  dey  mak'  it  wit'  de  log  all  jine  togeder 
Wen  dey  strek  de  swampy  groun'  w'ere  de  water 

hang  aroun' 
Or  passin'  by  some  tough  ole  beaver  medder. 

But  it  's  not  macadamize,  so  if  you  're  only 

wise 

You  will  tak'  your  tarn  an'  never  min'  de  worry 
For  de  corduroy  is  bad,  an'  will  mak'  you  plaintee 

mad 
By  de  way  de  buggy  jomp,  in  case  you  hurry. 

An'  I  'm  sure  you  don't  expec'  leetle  Victorine 

Leveque 

She  was  knowin'  moche  at  all  about  dem  places, 
'Cos -she  's  never  dere  before,  till  young  Zeph- 

irin  Madore 
He  was  takin'  her  away  for  see  de  races. 

O,  I  wish  you  see  her  den,  dat  's  before  she  marry, 

w'en 

She  's  de  fines'  on  de  Ian'  but  no  use  talkin' 
I  can  bet  you  w'at  you  lak,  if  you  meet  her  you 

look  back 

Jus'  to  watch  de  fancy  way  dat  girl  is  walkin'. 
126 


THE  CORDUROY  ROAD 

Yass  de  leetle  Victorine  was  de  nices'  girl  between 

De  town  of  Yamachiche  an'  Maskinonge", 

But  she  's  stuck  up  an'  she  's  proud,  an'  you  '11 

never  count  de  crowd 
Of  de  boy  she  geev'  it  w'at  dey  call  de  conge". 

Ah!   de   moder   spoil   her   sure,    for   even  Joe 

D' Amour 
Wen  he  's  ready  nearly  ev'ry  t'ing  to  geev 

her 
If  she  mak'  de  marine,  only  say,  "please  go 

away" 
An'  he  's  riches  habitant  along  de  reever. 

Zephirin  he  try  it  too,  an'  he  's  workin'  some- 

t'ing  new 

For  he  's  makin'  de  ole  woman  many  presen* 
Prize   package    on   de   train,   umbrella  for  de 

rain 
But  she  's  grompy  all  de  tarn,  an'  never  pleasan'. 


Wall,  w'en  he  ax  Ma-dame  tak'  de  girl  a,vay  dat 

tarn 

See  dem  races  on  Sorel  wit'  all  de  trotter 
De  moder  say  "All  right  if  you  bring  her  home 

to-night 

Before  de  cow's  milk,  I  let  her  go,  rria  daughter." 
127 


THE  CORDUROY  ROAD 

So  Victorine  she  go  wit'  Zephirin  her  beau 
On  de  yankee  buggy  mak'  it  on  St.  Bruno 
An'  w'en  dey  pass  hotel  on  de  middle  of  Sorel 
Dey    're  puttin'  on  de  beeges'  style  dat  you 
know. 


Wall!  dey  got  some  good  horse  dere,  but  Zeph- 
irin don't  care 

He  's  back  it  up  hees  own  paroisse,  ba  golly, 

An'  he  mak'  it  t'ree  doll-arre  w'en  Maskinonge" 
Star 

On  de  two  mile  heat  was  beatin'  Sorel  Molly. 

Victorine  don't  min'  at  all,  till  de  "free  for  all" 

dey  call 
Dat 's  de  las'  race  dey  was  run  before  de  snow 

fly 
Den  she  say  "I  t'ink  de  cow  mus'  be  gettin' 

home  soon  now 
An'  you  know  it  's  only  clock  ole  woman  go  by. 

"An*  if  we  're  comin'  late  w'en  de  cow  pass  on 

de  gate 
You  '11  be  sorry  if  you  hear  de  way  she  talk 

dere, 

So  w'en  I  see  de  race  on  Sorel  or  any  place 
Affer  dis,  you  may  be  sure  I  got  to  walk  dere." 
128 


THE  CORDUROY  ROAD 

Den  he  laugh  dat  Zephirin,  an'  he  say  "Your 

poor  mama 

I  know  de  pile  she  t'ink  about  her  daughter 
So  we  '11  tak'  de  short  road  back  on  de  corduroy 

race  track 
Don't  matter  if  we  got  to  sweem  de  water." 

No  wonder  he  is  smile  till  you  hear  heem  half  a 

mile 

For  dat  morning  he  was  tole  hees  leetle  broder 
Let  de  cattle  out  de  gate,  so  he  know  it 's  purty 

late 
By  de  tarn  dem  cow  was  findin'  out  each  oder. 

So  along  de  corduroy  de  young  girl  an'  de  boy 

Dey  was  kipin'  up  a  joggin'  nice  an'  steady 

It  is  n't  heavy  load,  an'  Guillaume  he  know  de 

road 
For  many  tam  he  's  been  dat  way  already. 

But  de  girl  she  fin'  it  slow,  so  she  ax  de  boy  to 

go 

Somet'ing  better  dan  a  mile  on  fifteen  minute 
An'  he  's   touch   heem   up    Guillaume;  so  dat 

horse  he  lay  for  home 
An'  de  nex'   t'ing  Victorine  she  know  she  's 

in  it. 

O  I2Q 


THE  CORDUROY  ROAD 

"O,  pull  him  in,"  she  yell,  "for  even  on  Sorel 

I  am  sure  I  never  see  de  quicker  racer," 

But  it 's  leetle  bit  too  late,  for  de  horse  is  get 

hees  gait 
An'  de  worse  of  all  ba  gosh !  Guillaume  's  a  pacer. 

See  hees  tail  upon  de  air,  no  wonder  she  was  scare 
But  she  hang  on  lak  de  winter  on  T'ree  Reever. 
Cryin'  out — "please  hoi'  me  tight,  or  I  'm  comin 

dead  to-night 
An'  ma  poor  ole  moder  dear,  I  got  to  leave  her." 

Wit'  her  arm  aroun'  hees  wais' ;  she  was  doin' 

it  in  case 
She  bus'  her  head,  or  keel  herse'f,  it  's  not  so 

easy  sayin' 
Dey  was  comin'  on  de  jomp  t'roo  dat  dam  ole 

beaver  swamp 
An'  meet  de  crowd  is  lookin'  for  dem  cow  was  go 

a-strayin'. 

Den  she  's  cryin',  Victorine,  for  she  's  knowin* 

w'at  it  mean 
De  parish  dey  was  talkin'  firse  chances  dey  be 

get  tin', 
But  no  sooner  dat  young  man  stop  de  horse,  he 

tak'  her  han' 
An'  w'isper  "never  min',  ma  chere,  won't  do  no 

good  a-frettin'." 

130 


THE   CURE   OF   CALUMETTE 

Non!  she  is  n't  cryin'  long,  for  he  tole  her  it  was 

wrong 
She  's  sure  he  save  her  life  too,  or  she  was  moche 

mistaken, 
An'  de  ole  Ma-dame  Leveque  also  kiss  heem  on 

de  neck 
An'  quickly  after  dat  Hooraw!  de  man  an'  wife 

dey  're  makin'. 


The  Cure  of  Calumette 

[The  Cure1  of  a  French  Canadian  parish,  when  summoned 
to  the  bedside  of  a  dying  member  of  his  flock,  always  carries 
in  his  buggy  or  sleigh  a  bell.  This  bell  serves  two  purposes : 
first,  it  has  the  effect  of  clearing  a  way  for  the  passage  of 
the  good  priest's  vehicle,  and,  secondly,  it  calls  to  prayer 
those  of  the  faithful  who  are  within  hearing  of  its  solemn 
tones.] 

r\ERE  's  no  voyageur  on  de  reever  never  run 

hees  canoe  d'ecorce 
T'roo  de  roar  an'  de  rush  of  de  rapide,  w'ere  it 

jump  lak  a  beeg  w'ite  horse, 
Dere  's  no  hunter  man  on  de  prairie,  never  wear 

w'at  you  call  racquette 

Can    beat   leetle   Fader    O'Hara,   de    Curd    of 
Calumette. 


THE   CURE  OF   CALUMETTE 

Hees  fader  is  full-blooded  Irish,  an'  hees  moder 

is  pure  Canayenne, 
Not  off  en  dat  stock  go  togedder,  but  she  's  fine 

combination  ma  frien' 
For  de  Irish  he  's  full  of  de  devil,  an'  de  French 

dey  got  savoir  faire, 
Dat  's  mak'  it  de  very  good  balance  an'  tak' 

you  mos'  ev'ry  w'ere. 


But  dere  's  wan  t'ing  de  Cure*  wont  stan'  it ;  mak' 

fun  on  de  Irlandais 
An'  of  course  on  de  French  we  say  not'ing,  'cos  de 

parish  she  's  all  Canayen, 
Den  you  see  on  account  of  de  moder,  he  can't 

spik  hese'f  very  moche, 
So  de  ole  joke  she  's  all  out  of  fashion,  an'  wan 

of  dem  t'ing  we  don't  touch. 


Wall!  wan  of  dat  kin'  is  de  Cure",  but  w'en  he  be 

comin'  our  place 
De  peop'  on  de  parish  all  w'isper,  "How  young 

he  was  look  on  hees  face ; 
Too  bad  if  de  wedder  she  keel  heem  de  firse  tarn 

he  got  leetle  wet, 
An'  de  Bishop  might  sen'  beeger  Cure",  for  it  's 

purty  tough  place,  Calumette!" 
132 


THE   CURE   OF   CALUMETTE 

Ha !  ha !  how  I  wish  I  was  dere,  me,  w'en  he  go  on 

de  mission  call 
9n  de  shaintee  camp  way  up  de  reever,  drivin' 

hees  own  cariole, 
An'  he  meet  blaggar'  feller  been  drinkin',  jus* 

enough  mak'  heem  ack  lak  fou, 
Joe  Vadeboncoeur,  dey  was  call  heem,  an'  he  's 

purty  beeg  feller  too! 


Mebbe  Joe  he  don't  know  it 's  de  Cure',  so  he  's 

hollerin',  "Get  out  de  way, 
If  you  don't  geev  me  whole  of  de  roadside, 

sapree!  you  go  off  on  de  sleigh." 
But  de  Cure*  he  never  say  not'ing,  jus'  poule  on 

de  line  leetle  bit, 
An'  w'en  Joe  try  for  kip  heem  hees  promise,  hees 

nose  it  get  badly  hit. 


Maudit!  he  was  strong  leetle  Curd,  an'  he  go  for 
Jo-zeph  en  masse 

An'  w'en  he  is  mak'  it  de  finish,  poor  Joe  is  n't 
feel  it  firse  class, 

So  nex'  tam  de  Curd  he  's  goin'  for  visit  de  shain- 
tee encore 

Of  course  he  was  mak'  beeges'  mission  never  see 
on  dat  place  before. 


THE   CURE   OF   CALUMETTE 

An'  he  know  more,  I  'm  sure  dan  de  lawyer,  an1 

dere  's  many  poor  habitant 
Is  glad  for  see  Fader  O'Hara,  an'  ax  w'at  he  t'ink 

of  de  law 
Wen  dey  get  leetle  troub'  wit'  each  oder,  an' 

don't  know  de  bes'  t'ing  to  do, 
Dat  's  makin'  dem  save  plaintee  monee,  an'  kip 

de  good  neighbor  too. 


But  w'en  we  fin'  out  how  he  paddle  till  canoe  she 

was  nearly  fly 
An'  travel  racquette  on  de  winter,  w'en  snow- 

dreef  is  pilin'  up  high 
For  visit  some  poor  man  or  woman  dat  's  waitin' 

de  message  of  peace, 
An'  get  dem  prepare  for  de  journey,  we  're  proud 

on  de  leetle  pries' ! 


0 !  many  dark  night  w'en  de  chil'ren  is  put  away 

safe  on  de  bed 
An'   mese'f  an'   ma   femme   mebbe  sittin'  an 

watchin'  de  small  curly  head 
We  hear  somet'ing  else  dan  de  roar  of  de  tender, 

de  win'  an'  de  rain; 
So  we  're  bote  passin'  out  on  de  doorway,  an' 

lissen  an'  lissen  again. 


THE   CURE   OF   CALUMETTE 

An'  it  's  lonesome  for  see  de  beeg  cloud  sweepin' 
across  de  sky 

An'  lonesome  for  hear  de  win'  cryin'  lak  some- 
body 's  goin'  to  die, 

But  de  soun'  away  down  de  valley,  creepin' 
aroun'  de  hill 

All  de  tarn  gettin'  closer,  closer,  dat  's  de  soun' 
mak'  de  heart  stan'  still ! 


It 's  de  bell  of  de  leetle  Cure",  de  music  of  deat' 
we  hear, 

Along  on  de  black  road  ringin',  an'  soon  it  was 
comin'  near 

Wan  minute  de  face  of  de  Cure"  we  see  by  de  lan- 
tern light, 

An'  he  's  gone  from  us,  jus'  lak  a  shadder,  into  de 
stormy  night. 


An'  de  buggy  rush  down  de  hill  side  an'  over  de 

bridge  below, 
Were  creek  run  so  high  on  de  spring-tarn,  w'en 

mountain  t'row  off  de  snow, 
An'  so  long  as  we  hear  heem  goin',  we  kneel  on  de 

floor  an'  pray 
Dat  God  will  look  affer  de  Cure",  an'  de  poor  soul 

dat  's  passin'  away. 


THE   CURE   OF   CALUMETTE 

I  dunno  if  he  need  our  prayer,  but  we  geev'  it 

heem  jus'  de  sam', 
For  w'en  a  man  's  doin'  hees  duty  lak  de  Cure  do 

all  de  tam 
Never  min'  all  de  t'ing  may  happen,  no  matter 

he  's  riche  or  poor 
Le   bon  Dieu  was  up  on  de  heaven,  will  look 

out  for  dat  man,  I  'm  sure. 


I  'm  only  poor  habitant  farmer,  an'  mebbe  know 

not'ing  at  all, 
But  dere  's  wan  t'ing  I  'm  alway  wishin',  an' 

dat 's  w'en  I  get  de  call 
For  travel  de  far-away  journey,  ev'ry  wan  on  de 

worl'  mus'  go 
He  '11  be  wit'  me  de  leetle  Cure"  'fore  I  'm  leffin 

dis  place  below. 


For  I  know  I  '11  be  feel  more  easy,  if  he  's  sittin' 

dere  by  de  bed 
An'  he  '11  geev'  me  de  good-bye  message,  an' 

place   hees  han'   on  ma   head, 
Den  I  '11  hoi'  if  he  '11  only  let  me,  dat  han'  till 

de  las'  las'  breat' 
An'    bless   leetle    Fader    O'Hara,    de    Cure"    of 

Calumette. 

136 


THE  OYSTER  SCHOONER 

The  Oyster  Schooner 

\\7"'AT  's  all  dem  bell  a  ringin'  for,  can  hear 

dem  ev'ry  w'ere? 
Wat 's  bring  de  peop'  togeder  on  de  w'arf  at 

Trois  Rivieres, 
Dat  happy  crowd  is  look  so  glad,  w'y  are  dey 

comin'  dere? 
O !   de   reason   dey  're  so  happy  w'ile   dey  're 

waitin'   dere  to-day 
Is  becos  de  oyster  schooner  she  's  sailin'  up  de 

bay 
An'  de  caraquette  an'  malpecque  will  quickly 

melt  away 
Affer  she  was  t'row  de  anchor  on  T'ree  Reever- 


For  w'y  dey  mak'  de  fuss  lak  dat,  an'  nearly 

broke  deir  neck, 
Ain't  dey  got  de  noder  oyster  more  better  dan 

malpecque 
Or  caraquette,  dat  leetle  wan  from  down  below 

Kebeck? 
Wall!  ax  de  crowd  dat  question  w'ile  dey  're 

waitin'  dere  to-day, 

So  glad  to  see  "La  Belle  Marie"  sailin'  up  de  bay, 
An'  dey  '11  drown  you  on  de  water,  so  you  '11 

know  about  de  way 
She  was  t'rowin'  out  de  anchor  on  T'ree  Reever. 


THE  OYSTER  SCHOONER 

Dere  's  ole  Joe  Lachapelle,  he  's  blin',  can  hardly 

see  at  all, 
He  's  bring  de  man  got  wooden  leg  call  Jimmie 

Sauriol, 
An'  bote  dem  feller  jomp  aroun'  lak  mooshrat  on 

de  fall, 
For  dey  know  de  schooner  's  comin',  she  's  sailin' 

up  de  bay, 
An'    de    reason   she  don't   hurry  w'ile  dey  're 

waitin'   dere  to-day, 
Is  becos  she  's  full  of  oyster,  will   quickly  pass 

away 
Wen  dat  schooner  t'row  de  anchor  on  T'rce 

Reever. 

We  've  trottin'  race  las'  winter,  an'  circus  on  de 

spring, 
Wit'  elephan'  an1  monkey  too,  all  playin'  en  de 

ring, 
But  beeger  crowd  she  's  comin'  now,  for  w'y?  it  's 

differen'  t'ing, 
For  dey  're  waitin'  on  dat  schooner,  she  's  sailin' 

up  de  bay 
Dey  smell  de  malpecque  oyster  an'  caraqiiette 

to-day 
An'  O !  ba  gosh,  dey  '11  eat  dem !  it  's  alway  be  de 

way 
W'en  dat  schooner  t'row  de  anchor  on  T'ree 

Reever. 

138 


THE  OYSTER  SCHOONER 

"She  's  comin'  in — she  's  comin'  in,"  jus'  lissen 

to  de  cry ! 
"Get  out  de  line  an'  hoi'  her  fas',  for  fear  she  's 

passin'  by, 
For  if  dere  's  somet'ing  happen  now,  de  peop'  will 

surely  die." 
Affer  waitin'  on  dat  schooner,  she  's  sailin'  up  de 

bay 
Lak  de  sparrow  on  de  wood-pile  watchin'  all  de 

day, 
But  dey  got  her  safe  enough  now,  she  '11  never  sail 

away 
Till  dem  oyster  she  was  finish  on  T'ree  Reever. 


"All  aboar' — comment  ca  va,   Captinne  Beli- 

veau? 
We  're  glad  to  see  you  back  again  from  Cara- 

quette  below, 
But  we  're  sorry  you  don't  hurry,  w'en  you  got 

such  nice  car-go." 
So  dey  ketch  dat  oyster  schooner,  she  's  sailin' 

up  de  bay, 
Dey  ketch  her  an'  dey  hoi'  her  till  de  oyster  's 

gone  away 
An'  she  's  two  foot  out  de  water  "La  Belle  Marie" 

nex'  day 

Affer  she  was  t'row  de  anchor  on  T'ree  Reever. 
139 


MY  LEETLE  CABANE 

My  Leetle  Cabane 

f  'M  sittin'  to-night  on  ma  leetle  cabane,  more 
happier  dan  de  king, 

An'  ev'ry  corner  's  ringin'  out  wit'  musique  de 
ole  stove  sing 

I  hear  de  cry  of  de  winter  win',  for  de  storm- 
gate  's  open  wide 

But  I  don't  care  not'ing  for  win'  or  storni,  so  long 
I  was  safe  inside. 

Viens  'ci,  mon  chien,  put  your  head  on  dere,. 

let  your  nose  res'  on  ma  knee — 
You  'member  de  tarn  we  chase  de  moose  back  on 

de  Lac  Souris 
An'  de  snow  come  down  an'  we  los'  ourse'f  till 

mornin'  is  bring  de  light, 
You  t'ink  we  got  place  to  sleep,  mon  chien,  lak 

de  place  we  got  here  to-night 

Onder  de  roof  of  de  leetle  cabane,  w'ere  fire 

she  's  blazin'  high 
An'  bed  I  mak'  of  de  spruce  tree  branch,  is  lie  on 

de  floor  close  by, 
O!  I  lak  de  smell  of  dat  nice  fresh  bed,  an'  I 

dream  of  de  summer  tarn 
An'  de  spot  w'ere  de  beeg  trout  jomp  so  moche 

down  by  de  lumber  dam. 
140 


MY  LEETLE  CABANE 

But  lissen  dat  win',  how  she  scream  outside, 

mak  me  t'ink  of  de  loup  garou, 
W'y  to-night,  mon  chien,  I  be  feelin'  glad  if  even 

de  carcajou 
Don't  ketch  hese'f  on  de  trap  I  set  to-day  on  de 

Lac  Souris 
Let  heem  wait  till  to-morrow,  an'  den  if  he  lak, 

I  geev  heem  good  chance,  sapree! 


I  see  beeg  cloud  w'en  I  'm  out  to-day,  off  on  de 

nor'-eas'  sky, 
An'  she  block  de  road,  so  de  cloud  behin',  don't 

get  a  chance  passin'  by, 
An'  I  t'ink  of  boom  on  de  grande  riviere,  w'en 

log  's  fillin'  up  de  bay, 
Wall!  sam'  as  de  boom  on  de  spring-tarn  flood, 

dat  cloud  she  was  sweep  away. 


Dem  log  's  very  nice  an*  quiet,  so  long  as  de 

boom  's  all  right, 
But  soon  as  de  boom  geev  way,  1'enfant!  it 's 

den  is  begin  de  fight. 
Dey  run  de  rapide,  an'  jomp  de  rock,  dey  leap  on 

de  air  an'  dive, 
Can  hear  dem  roar  from  de  reever  shore,  jus' 

lak  dey  was  all  alive. 
141 


MY  LEETLE  CABANE 

An'  dat  was  de  way  wit'  de  cloud  to-day,  de  res' 

of  dem  push  aside, 
For  dey  're  comin'  fas'  from  de  cole  nor'-eas'  an' 

away  t'roo  de  sky  dey  ride 
Shakin'  de  snow  as  along  dey  go,  lak  grain  from 

de  farmer's  han' 
Till  to-morrow  you  can't  see  not'ing  at  all,  but 

smoke  of  de  leetle  cabane. 


I  'm  glad  we  don't  got  no  chimley,  only  hole  on 

de  roof  up  dere, 
An'  spark  fly  off  on  w'ole  of  de  worl',  so  dere  's 

no  use  gettin'  scare, 
Mus'  get  more  log!  an'  it  's  lucky  too,  de  wood 

pile  is  stannin'  near 
So   blow   away   storm,   for  harder  you  go,  de 

warmer  she  's  comin'  here — 


I  wonder  how  dey  get  on,  mon  chieri,  off  on  de 

great  beeg  town, 
Were  house  is  so  high,  near  touch  de  sky,  mus' 

be  danger  of  fallin'  down. 
An'  worser  too  on  de  night  lak  dis,  ketchin'  dat 

terrible  win', 
O!  leetle  small  place  lak  de  ole  cabane  was  de 

right  place  for  stay  in'  in. 
142 


MY  LEETLE  CABANE 

I  s'pose  dey  got  plaintee  bodder  too,  dem  feller 

dat  's  be  riche  man, 
For  dey  're  never  knowin'  w'en  t'ief  may  come 

an'  steal  all  de  t'ing  he  can 
An'  de  monee  was  kip  dem  busy  too,  watchin' 

it  night  an'  day, 
Dunno  but  we  're  better  off  here,  mon  chien,  wit' 

beeg  city  far  away. 


For  I  look  on  de  corner  over  dere,  an'  see  it  ma 

birch  canoe, 
I  look  on  de  wall  w'ere  ma  rifle  hang  along  wit' 

de  good  snowshoe, 
An'  ev'ry  t'ing  else  on  de  worl'  I  got,  safe  on  dis 

place  near  me. 
An'  here  you  are  too,  ma  brave  old  dog,  wit' 

your  nose  up  agen  ma  knee. 


An'  here  we  be  stay  t'roo  de  summer  day,  w'en 

ev'ry  t'ing  's  warm  an'  bright 
On  winter  too  w'en  de  stormy  win'  blow  lak  she 

blow  to-night 
Let  dem  stay  on  de  city,  on  great  beeg  house, 

dem  feller  dat 's  be  riche  man 
For  we  're  happy  an'  satisfy  here,  mon  chien,  on 

our  own  leetle  small  cabane. 
143 


BATEESE  THE  LUCKY  MAN 

Bateese  the  Lucky  Man 

11TE  's  alway  ketchin'  dore,  an'  he  's    alway 

ketchin'  trout 

On  de  place  w'ere  no  wan  else  can  ketch  at  all 
He  's  alway  ketchin'  barbotte,  dat  's  w'at  you 

call  bull-pout, 
An'  he  never  miss  de  wiT  duck  on  de  fall. 

O!  de  pa'tridge  do  some  skippin'  w'en  she  see 

heem  on  de  swamp 
For  she  know  Bateese  don't  go  for  not'ing 

dere, 
An'  de  rabbit  if  he  's  comin',  wall!  you  ought  to 

see  heem  jomp. 
W'y  he  want  to  climb  de  tree  he  feel  so  scare. 

Affer  two  hour  by  de  reever  I  hear  hees  leetle  song 
Den  I  meet  heem  all  hees  pocket  full  of  snipe, 

An'  me,  I  go  de  sam'  place,  an'  I  tramp  de  w'ole 

day  long 
An'  I  'm  only  shootin'  two  or  t'ree,  Ba  Cripe! 

I  start  about  de  sun-rise,  an'  I  put  out  ma  decoy, 

An'  I  see  Bateese  he  sneak  along  de  shore, 
An'  before  it 's  comin'  breakfas',  he  's  holler  on 

hees  boy 

For  carry  home  two  dozen  duck  or  more. 
144 


THE  HILL  OF  ST.  SEBASTIEN 

An'  I  'm  freezin'  on  de  blin' — me — from  four 

o'clock  to  nine 

An'  ev'ry  duck  she  's  passin'  up  so  high. 
Dere  's  blue-bill  an'  butter-ball,  an'  red-head, 

de  fines'  kin 
An'  I  might  as  well  go  shootin'  on  de  sky. 

Don't  see  de  noder  feller  lak  Bateese  was  lucky 

man, 

He  can  ketch  de  smartes'  feesh  is  never  sweem, 
An'  de  bird  he  seldom  miss  dem,  let  dem  try  de 

hard  dey  can 

W'y  de  eagle  on  de  mountain  can't  fly  away 
from  heem. 

But  all  de  bird,  an'  feesh  too,  is  geev'  up  feelin' 

scare, 

An'  de  rabbit  he  can  stay  at  home  in  bed, 
Por  he   feesh   an'    shoot   no   longer,    ole  Jean 

Bateese  Belair, 
'Cos  he  's  dead. 


The  Hill  of  St.  Sebastien 

T  OUGHT  to  feel  more  satisfy  an'  happy  dan 
A     I  be, 

For  better  husban'  dan  ma  own,  it 's  very  hard 
to  fin' 

10  145 


THE  HILL  OF  ST.  SEBASTIEN 

An'  plaintee  woman  if  dey  got  such  boy  an'  girl 

as  me 
Would  never  have  no  troub'  at  all,  an'  not'ing 

on  deir  min' 
But  w'ile  dey  're  alway  wit'  me,  'an'  dough  I  love 

dem  all 
I  can't  help  t'inkin'  w'en  I  watch  de  chil'ren 

out  at  play 
Of  tarn  I  'm  just'  lak  dat  mese'f,  an'  den  de  tear 

will  fall 
For  de  hill  of  St.  Sebastien  is  very  far  away ! 


It  seem  so  pleasan'  w'en  I  come  off  here  ten  year 

ago 
'  An'  hardes'  work  I  'm  gettin'  den,  was  never 

heavy  load, 
De  roughes'  place  is  smoot'  enough,  de  quickes* 

gait  is  slow 
For  glad  I  am  to  foller  w'ere  Louis  lead  de 

road 
But  somet'ing  's  comin'  over  me,  I  feel  it  more 

an'  more 
It  's  alway  pullin'  on  de  heart,  an'  stronger 

ev'ry   day, 
An'  O!  I  long  to  see  again  de  reever  an'  de 

shore 

W'ere  de  hill  of  St.  Sebastien  is  lookin'  on. 
de  bay ! 

146 


THE  HILL  OF  ST.  SEBASTIEN 

I  use  to  t'ink  it  fs  fine  t'ing  once,  to  stan'  upon 

de  door 
An'  see  de  great  beeg  medder  dere,  stretchin* 

far  an'  wide, 
An'  smell  de  pleasan'  flower  dat  grow  lak  star 

on  de  prairie  floor, 
An'  watch  de  spotted  antelope  was  feedin' 

ev'ry  side, 
How  did  we  gain  it,  man  an'  wife,  dis  Ian'  was. 

no  man's  Ian'? 
By  rifle,  an'  harrow  an'  plow,  shovel  an'  spade 

an'  hoe 
De  blessin*  of  good  God  up  above,  an'  work  of  our 

own  strong  han' 

Till  it  stan'  on  de  middle,  our  leetle  nes',  w'ere 
de  wheat  an'  cornfiel'  grow. 

An'  soon  de  chil'ren  fill  de  house,  wit'  musique 

all  day  long, 
De  sam'  ma  moder  use  to  sing  on  de  cradle  over 

me, 
I  'm  almos'  sorry  it 's  be  ma  fault  dey  learn  dem 

ole  tarn  song 
Wat  good  is  it  tak'  me  off  lak  dat  back  on  ma 

own  con  tree? 
Till  de  reever  once  more  I  see  again,  an'  lissen 

its  current  flow 

An'  dere  's  Hercule  de  ferry  man  comin'  across, 
de  bay! 


THE  HILL  OF  ST.  SEBASTIEN 

Wat 's  use  of  foolin'  me  lak  dat?  for  surely  I 

mus'  know 
De  hill  of  St.  Sebastien  is  very  far  away! 

Wen  Louis  ketch  me  dat  summer  night  watchin' 

de  sky  above, 
Seein'  de  mountain  an'  de  lake,  wit'  small  boat 

sailin'  roun' 
He  kiss  me  an'  say — "Toinette,  I  'm  glad  dis 

prairie  Ian'  you  love 
For  travel  de  far  you  can,  ma  belle,  it 's  fines' 

on  top  de  groun'!" 

Jus'  w'en  I  'm  lookin'  dat  beeg  cloud  too,  stand- 
in'  dere  lak  a  wall! 
Sam'  as  de  hill  I  know  so  well,  home  on  ma  own 

contree, 
Good  job  I  was  cryin'  quiet  den,  an'  Louis  can't 

hear  at  all 

But  I  kiss  de  poor  feller  an'  laugh,  an'  never 
say  not'ing — me. 

Wat  can  you  do  wit'  man  lak  dat,  an'  w'y  am 

I  bodder  so? 
De  firse  t'ing  he  might  fin'  it  out,  den  hees 

heart  will  feel  it  sore 
An'  if  he  say  "Come  home  Toinette,"  I  'm  sure 

I  mus'  answer  "No," 

For  if  I  'm  seem'  dat  place  again,  I  never 
return  no  more ! 

148 


MARIE  LOUISE 

So  let  de  heart  break — I  don't  care,  I  won't 

say  not'ing — me — 
I  '11  mak'  dat  promise  on  mese'f,  an'  kip  it 

night  an'  day 
But  O!  Mon  Dieu!  how  glad,  how  glad,  an* 

happy  I  could  be 
If  de  hill  of  St.  Sebastien  was  not  so  far  away ! 

Marie  Louise 

r\IS  was  de  story  of  boy  an'  girl 

Dat 's  love  each  oder  above  de  worl' 
But  it 's  not  easy  job  for  mak'  1'amour 
Wen  de  girl  she  's  riche  an'  de  boy  he  's  poor 
All  de  sam'  he  don't  worry  an'  she  don't  cry, 
But  wait  for  good  chances  come  bimeby. 

Young  Marie  Louise  Hurtubuise 

Was  leev  wit'  her  moder  la  veuve  Denise 

On  fines'  house  on  de  w'ole  chemin 

From  Caribou  reever  to  St.  Germain 

For  ole  woman  's  boss  on  de  grande  moulin. 

Were  dere  's  nice  beeg  dam,  water  all  de  tarn 
An'  season  t'roo  runnin'  jus'  de  sam' 
Wit'  good  leetle  creek  comin'  off  de  hill 
Was  helpin'  de  reever  for  work  de  mill 
So  de  grande  moulin  she  is  never  still. 
149 


MARIE  LOUISE 

No  wonder  Denise  she  was  hard  to  please 
Wen  de  boy  come  sparkin'  Marie  Louise 
For  affer  de  foreman  Bazile  is  pay 
De  mill  she  's  bringin'  t'ree  dollar  a  day 
An'  for  makin'  de  monee,  dat  's  easy  way. 

An'  de  girl  Marie,  O !  she  's  tres  jolie, 
Jompin'  aroun  lak  de  summer  bee 
She  's  never  short  plaintee  t'ing  to  do 
An'  mebbe  she  ketch  leetle  honey  too, 
'Cos  she  's  jus'  as  sweet  as  de  morning  dew. 

An'  w'en  she  was  dress  on  her  Sunday  bes' 
An'  walk  wit'  her  moder  on  seconde  messe 
Dere  's  not'ing  is  bring  de  young  man  so  fas' 
An'  dey  stan'  on  door  of  church  en  masse 
So  res'  of  de  peop'  dey  can  hardly  pass. 

An'  she  know  musique,  'cos  on  Chris'mas  week 
Wen  organ  man  on  de  church  is  sick 
(S'pose  he  got  de  grippe)  dat  girl  she  play 
Lak  college  professor,  de  pries'  is  say 
Till  de  place  it  was  crowd  nearly  ev'ry  day. 

Ole  Cure  Belair  of  St.  Pollinaire, 
Dat  's  parish  ten  mile  noder  side  riviere, 
If  he  's  not  gettin'  mad,  it  was  funny  t'ing 
W'en  hees  young  man  fly  lak  bird  on  de  wing 
Wit'  nobody  lef  behin'  to  sing. 
150 


MARIE  LOUISE 

An'  nex'  t'ing  dey  know  it 's  comin'  so 
Dat  mos'  of  de  girl  she  got  no  beau, 
An'  of  course  dat  's  makin'  de  jealousie 
For  w'en  de  young  feller  he  see  Marie 
He  see  not'ing  else  on  hees  eye,  sapree! 

Mus'  be  somet'ing  done  sure  as  de  gun, 

It 's  all  very  well  for  de  boy  have  fun 

But  dere  's  noder  t'ing  too,  must  n't  be  forget, 

Dere  's  two  fine  parish  dat 's  all  upset 

An'  mebbe  de  troub'  is  n't  over  yet. 

So  ev'ry  wan  say  de  only  way 

Is  gettin'  young  Marie  Louise  marine, 

Den  dey  have  beeg  meetin'  on  magasin, 

Were  he  sit  on  de  chair  Aleck  Sanschagrin, 

An'  dey  'point  heem  for  go  on  de  grande  moulin. 

But  w'en  Aleck  come  dere  for  arrange  affaire, 
Ole  Madame  Dcnise  she  was  mak'  heem  scare 
For  jus'  on  de  minute  she  see  hees  face 
She  know  right  away  all  about  de  case 
An'  she  tole  Bazile  t'row  heem  off  de  place. 

Now  de  young  Bazile  he  was  t'ink  good  deal 
Of  Marie  Louise  an'  he  's  ready  for  keel 
Any  feller  come  foolin'  aroun'  de  door 
So  he  kick  dat  man  till  he  's,  feelin'  sore, 
An'  Aleck  he  never  go  back  no  more. 


MARIE  LOUISE 

If  it 's  true  w'at  dey  say,  Joe  Boulanger 
Was  crazy  to  fight  Irish  man  wan  day 
Wen  he  steal  all  de  pork  on  hees  dinner  can, 
Den  it  is  n't  so  very  hard  onderstan' 
Bazile  Latour  mus'  be  darn  smart  man. 

For  nobody  know  de  poor  feller  Joe 

Wen  he  's  come  from  de  grande  moulin  below 

'Cept  hees  moder,  dat  's  tole  heem  mak'  promise 

sure 

Kip  off  on  de  mill,  an'  Bazile  Latour, 
(But  it 's  long  before  doctor  can  mak'  heem  cure). 

Den  de  ole  Denise  she  was  very  please, 
An'  nex'  day  spik  wit'  Marie  Louise, 
"Ma  girl,  I  got  de  right  man  for  you 
If  you  can  only  jus'  love  heem  true, 
Bazile  dat  young  feller,  I  t'ink  he  '11  do." 

"Wall!  Moder  he  's  poor,  Bazile  Latour, 

But  if  you  t'ink  you  will  lak  heem  sure 

I  '11  try  an'  feex  it  mese'f  some  day 

For  you  've  been  de  good  moder  wit'  me  alway  " 

An'  dat 's  w'at  Marie  Louise  she  say. 

So  it 's  comin'  right  affer  all  de  fight, 
An'  de  parish  don't  see  de  more  finer  sight 
Dan  w'en  dey  get  marry  on  St.  Germain 
Wy  de  buggy  she  's  pilin'  de  w'ole  chemin 
All  de  way  from  de  church  to  de  grande  moulin. 
152 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  AND  THE  NEW 

The  Old  House  and  the  New 

TS  it  only  twelve  mont'  I  play  de  fool, 

You  "re  sure  it  's  correc',  ma  dear? 

I  'm  glad  for  hearin'  you  spik  dat  way 

For  I  t'ink  it  was  twenty  year, 
Since  leffin'  de  leetle  ole  house  below, 

I  mak'  wit'  ma  own  two  han' 
For  go  on  dat  fine  beeg  place,  up  dere — 

Mon  Dieu !  I  'm  de  crazy  man ! 

You  'member  we  're  not  very  riche,  cherie, 

Dat  tam  we  're  beginnin'  life! 
Mese'f  I  'm  twenty,  an'  you  eighteen 

Wen  I  'm  bringin'  you  home  ma  wife, 
Many  de  worry  an'  troub'  we  got 

An'  some  of  dem  was  n't  small, 
But  not  very  long  dey  bodder  us 

For  we  work  an'  forget  dem  all. 

An'  you  was  de  savin'  woman  too, 

Dere  's  nobody  beat  you  dere ! 
An'  I  laugh  w'en  I  t'ink  of  de  tam  you  go 

Over  on  Trois  Rivieres 
For  payin'  de  bank — you  know  how  moche 

We  're  owin'  for  dat  new  place 
Wat  was  he  sayin'  de  nice  young  man 

Smilin'  upon  hees  face. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  AND  THE  NEW 

Wen  he  got  dat  monee  was  all  pure  gole 

Come  down  on  your  familee 
Por  bonder  year  an'  mebbe  more? 

"Ma-dame  you  're  excusin'  me, 
But  w'ere  was  you  gettin'  dis  nice  gole  coin 

Of  Louis  Quatorze,  hees  tarn 
Wit'  hees  face  on  back  of  dem  ev'ry  wan? 

For  dey  're  purty  scase,  now  Ma-dame?" 


An'  you  say  "Dat  's  not 'ing  at  all  M'sieu' 

Ma  familee  get  dem  t'ing, 
I  suppose  it  's  very  long  tarn  ago, 

Wen  Louis  Quatorze  is  King, 
An'  I  'm  sorry  poor  feller  he  's  comin'  dead 

An'  not  leevin'  here  to-day 
'"Cos  man  should  be  good  on  hees  frien',  M'sieu1 

Wen  de  monee  he  mak'  dat  way." 


Yass,  ev'ry  wan  know  we  're  workin'  hard 

An'  savin'  too  all  dem  year, 
But  nobody  see  us  starve  ourse'f 

Dere  's  plaintee  to  eat,  don't  fear — 
Bimeby  our  chil'ren  dey  're  growin'  up 

So  we  're  doin'  de  bes'  we  can 
Settle  dem  off  on  de  firse  good  chance 

An'  geevin'  dem  leetle  Ian'. 
i54 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  AND  THE  NEW 

An'  den  de  troub'  is  begin  to  show 

Wen  our  daughter  poor  Caroline 
She  marry  dat  lawyer  on  Trois  Rivieres 

De  beeges'  fool  never  seen! 
Alway  come  home  ev'ry  summer  sure 

Bringin'  her  familee, 
All  right  for  de  chil'ren,  I  don't  min'  dem; 

But  de  husban'!  sapree  maudit! 


I  wish  I  was  close  ma  ear  right  off 

Wen  he  talk  of  our  leetle  house 
Dough  I  know  w'en  familee's  comin'  home 

Dere  is  n't  moche  room  for  a  mouse, 
He  say  "Riche  man  lak  youse'f  can't  leev' 

On  shaintee  lak  dis  below, 
Wen  t'ousan'  dollar  will  buil'  fin'  place 

Up  on  de  hill  en  haut." 


An'  he  talk  about  gallerie  all  aroun' 

Were  we  sit  on  de  summer  night 
Watchin'  de  star  on  de  sky  above 

Wile  de  moon  she  was  shinin'  bright, 
Could  plant  some  apple-tree  dere,  also, 

An'  flower,  an'  I  dunno  w'at, 
An*  w'en  de  sun  he  's  begin  to  rise 

Look  at  de  view  we  got! 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  AND  THE  NEW 

Den  he  bring  'noder  feller  from  Trois  Rivieres 

An'  show  w'at  he  call  de  plan 
For  makin'  dem  house  on  de  w'ole  contree — 

Mon  Dieu !  how  I  hate  dat  man ! 
'Cos  he  's  talkin'  away  nearly  all  de  tarn 

Lak  trotter  upon  de  race — 
Wall!  affer  a  w'ile  we  mak'  our  min* 

For  havin'  dat  nice  new  place. 


So  dey  go  ahead,  an'  we  let  dem  go, 

But  stuff  dey  was  t'row  away ; 
I  'm  watchin'  for  dat,  an'  I  save  mese'f 

Mebbe  twenty-five  cent  a  day, 
For  you  're  surely  cheat  if  you  don't  tak'  care 

Very  offen  we  fin'  dat 's  true, 
An'  affer  de  house  she  was  finish  up, 

We're  geevin'  it  nam'  Bellevue. 


0 !  yass,  I  know  we  enjoy  ourse'f 

W'en  our  frien'  dey  was  comin'  roun' 
An'  say  "Dat 's  very  fine  place  you  got; 

Dere  's  not'ing  upon  de  town, 
Or  anyw'ere  else  for  honder  mile 

Dis  house  Bellevue  can  touch," 
Ah'  den  let  de  horse  eat  de  garden  fence 

Non!  we  don't  enjoy  dat  so  moche. 
156 


An'  of  course  we  can't  say  not'ing  at  all 

For  it 's  not  correc'  t'ing  you  know — 
But  "Never  min'  dat,  an'  please  come  again, 

I  'm  sorry  you  got  to  go." 
Bapterne!  w'en  I  'm  seein'  beeg  feller  bus' 

Our  two  dollar  easy  chair — 
Can't  help  it  at  all,  I  got  to  go 

Down  on  de  cellar  an'  swear! 


An'  w'ere  did  we  leev'  on  dat  belle  maison? 

Wan  room  an'  de  kitchen,  dat 's  all 
An'  plaintee  too  for  de  man  an*  wife! 

An'  you  'member  de  tarn  I  fall 
Off  on  de  gallerie  wan  dark  night, 

I  los'  mese'f  tryin'  fin' 
De  winder  dere  on  de  grande  parloir, 

For  closin'  it  up  de  blin'? 


An'  all  de  tarn  de  poor  leetle  house 

Is  down  on  de  road  below, 
I  t'ink  she  was  jealous  dat  fine  new  place 

Up  on  de  hill  en  haut, 
For  O !  she  look  lonesome  by  herse'f 

De  winder  all  broke  an'  gone — 
No  smoke  on  de  chimley  comin'  out 

No  frien'  stannin'  dere — not  wan. 


THE  CANADIAN  COUNTRY  DOCTOR 

You  'member  too,  w'en  de  fever  come 

An'  ketch  us  wan  winter  day? 
Wat  he  call  de  shaintee,  our  son-in-law, 

Dat  's  w'ere  dey  pass  away 
Xavier,  Zoe,  an'  Euchariste 

Our  chil'ren  wan,  two,  t'ree — 
I  off  en  t'ink  of  de  room  dey  die, 

An'  I  can't  help  cryin' — me. 

So  we  '11  go  on  de  ole  house  once  again, 

Long  enough  we  been  fool  lak  dis 
Never  min'  w'at  dey  say  bimeby,  ma  chere 

But  geev  me  de  leetle  kiss, 
Let  dem  stay  on  dat  fine  new  place  up  dere 

Our  daughter  an'  son-in-law 
For  to-morrow  soon  as  de  sun  will  rise 

We  're  goin'  back  home — Hooraw ! 


The  Canadian  Country  Doctor 

F  S'POSE  mos'  ev'ry  body  t'ink  hees  job  's 

about  de  hardes' 
From  deboss  man  on  de  Gouvernement  to  poor 

man  on  de  town 
From  de  cure  to  de  lawyer,  an'  de  farmer  to  de 

school  boy 

An'  all  the  de  noder  feller  was  mak'  de  worl'  go 
roun'. 

158 


THE  CANADIAN  COUNTRY  DOCTOR 

But  dere  's  wan  man  got  hees  ban'  full  t'roo 

ev'ry  kin'  of  wedder 
An'  he  's  never  sure  of  not'ing  but  work  an' 

work  away — 
Dat  's  de  man  dey  call  de  doctor,  w'en  you  ketch 

heem  on  de  con  tree 

An'  he  's  only  man  I  know-me,  don't  got  no 
holiday. 


If  you  're  comin'  off  de  city  spen'  de  summer- 
tarn  among  us 
An'  you  walk  out  on  de  mornin  w'en  de  leetle 

bird  is  sing 
Mebbe  den  you  see  de  doctor  w'en  he  's  passin 

wit'  hees  buggy 

An'  you  t'ink  "Wall!  contree  doctor  mus'  be 
very  pleasan'  t'ing. 


"  Drivin'  dat  way  all  de  summer  up  an'  down 

along  de  reever 
Were  de  nice  cool  win'  is  blowin'  among  de 

maple  tree 
Den  w'en  he  's  mak'  hees  visit,  comin'  home 

before  de  night  tarn 

For  pass  de  quiet  evening  wit'  hees  wife  an' 
familee." 


THE  CANADIAN  COUNTRY  DOCTOR 

An*  w'en  off  across  de  mountain,  some  wan  's 

sick  an'  want  de  doctor 
"Mus'  be  fine  trip  crossin'  over  for  watch  de 

sun  go  down 
Makin'  all  dem  purty  color  lak  w'at  you  call  de 

rainbow," 

Dat  's  way  de  peop'  is  talkin'    was  leevin'  on 
de  town. 


But  it  is  n't  alway  summer  on  de  contree,  an'  de 

doctor 
He  could  tole  you  many  story  of  de  storm  dat 

he  's  been  in 
How  hees  coonskin  coat  come  handy,  w'en  de 

win'  blow  off  de  reever 

For  if  she  's  sam'  ole  reever,  she  's  not  alway 
sam'  old  win'. 


An'  de  mountain  dat 's  so  quiet  w'en  de  w'ite 

cloud  go  a-sailin' 
All  about  her  on  de  summer  w'ere  de  sheep 

is  feedin'  high 
You  should  see  her  on  December  w'en  de  snow 

is  pilin'  roun'  her 

An'  all  de  win'  of  winter  come  tearin'  t'roo  de 
sky. 

1 60 


THE  CANADIAN  COUNTRY  DOCTOR 

0 !  le  bon  Dieu  help  de  doctor  w'en  de  message 

come  to  call  heem 
From  hees  warm  bed  on  de  night-tarn  for  visit 

some  poor  man 
Lyin'  sick  across  de  hill  side  on  noder  side  de 

reever 

An'  he  hear  de  mountain  roarin'  lak  de  beeg 
Shawinigan. 


Ah !  well  he  know  de  warning  but  he  can't  stay 

till  de  morning 
So  he  's  hitchin'  up  hees  leetle  horse  an'  put 

heem  on  burleau 
Den  w'en  he  's  feex  de  buffalo,  an'  wissle  to  hees 

pony 

Away  t'roo  storm  an'  hurricane  de  contree 
doctor  go. 


O !  de  small  Canadian  pony !  dat  's  de  horse  can 

walk  de  snowdreef . 
Dat 's  de  horse  can  fin'  de  road  too  he  's  never 

been  before 
Kip  your  heart  up  leetle  feller,  for  dere  's  many 

mile  before  you 

An'  it 's  purty  hard  job  tellin'  w'en  you  see 
your  stable  door. 
n  161 


THE  CANADIAN  COUNTRY  DOCTOR 

Yass !  dc  doctor  he  can  tole  you,  if  he  have  de  tarn 

for  talkin' 
All  about  de  bird  was  singin'  before  de  summer 

lef 
For  he  's  got  dem  on  hees  bureau  an'  he  's  doin' 

it  hese'f  too 

An'  de  las'  tarn  I  was  dere,  me,  I  see  dem  all 
mese'f. 


But  about  de  way  he  travel  t'roo  de  stormy 

night  of  winter 
Wen  de  rain  come  on  de  spring  flood,  an'  de 

bridge  is  wash  away 
All  de  hard  work,  all  de  danger  dat  was  offen 

hang  aroun'  heem 

Dat 's  de  tarn  our  contree  doctor  don't  have 
very  moche  to  say. 


For  it 's  purty  ole,  ole  story,  an'  he  alway  have 

it  wit'   heem 
Ever  since  he  come  among  us  on  parish  Saint 

Mathieu 
An'  no  doubt  he  's  feelin'  mebbe  jus'  de  sam'  as 

noder  feller 

So  he  rader  do  hees  talkin'  about  somet'ing 
dat  was  new. 

162 


MON  FRERE  CAMILLE 

Mon  Frere  Camille 

TV/TON  frere  Camille  he  was  firse  class  blood 
^*A     Wen  he  come  off  de  State  las'  fall, 
Wearin'  hees  boot  a  la  mode  box  toe 
An'  diamon'  pin  on  hees  shirt  also 
Sam'  as  dem  feller  on  Chi-caw-go ; 
But  now  he  's  no  blood  at  all, 

Camille,  mon  frere. 


Wat  's  makin'  dat  change  on  mon  frere  Camille? 

Wall !  lissen  for  minute  or  two, 
An'  I  '11  try  feex  it  up  on  de  leetle  song 
Dat  's   geevin'    some   chance   kin'   o'   help   it 

along 

So  wedder  I  'm  right  or  wedder  I  'm  wrong 
You  '11   know   all   about  heem  w'en   I   get 
t'roo, 

Mon  frere  Camille. 


He  never  sen'  letter  for  t'orteen  year 

So  of  course  he  mus'  be  all  right 
Till  telegraph  's  comin'  from  Kan-Ka-Kee 
"  I  'm  leffin'  dis  place  on  de  half  pas'  t'ree 
Wat  you  want  to  bring  is  de  bes'  buggee 
An'  double  team  sure  for  me  t'orsday  night 

Ton  frere  Camille.' 
163 


MON  FRERE  CAMILLE 

I  wish  you  be  dere  w'en  Camille  arrive 

I  bet  you  will  say  "Wat 's  dat?" 
For  he  's  got  lee  tie  cap  very  lak  tuque  bleu 
Ole  habitant  's  wearin'  in  bed,  dat  's  true, 
An'  w'at  do  you  t'ink  he  carry  too? 

Geev  it  up?    Wall!  small  valise  wit'  de  fine 
plug  hat. 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

"Very  strange."  I  know  you  will  say  right  off, 

For  dere  's  not'ing  wrong  wit'  hees  clothes, 
An'  he  put  on  style  all  de  bes'  he  can 
Wit'  diamon'  shinin'  across  hees  han' 
An'  de  way  he  's  talkin'  lak  Yankee  man 
Mus'  be  purty  hard  on  hees  nose, 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

But  he  'splain  all  dat  about  funny  cap, 

An'  tole  us  de  reason  w'y, 
It  seem  no  feller  can  travel  far, 
An'  specially  too  on  de  Pullman  car, 
'Less  dey  wear  leetle  cap  only  cos'  dollarre, 

Dat 's  true  if  he  never  die, 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

Don't  look  very  strong  dem  fancy  boot 

But  he  's  'splain  all  dat  also 
He  say  paten'  ledder  she  's  nice  an'  gay 
164 


You  don't  need  to  polish  dem  ev'ry  day, 
Besides  he  's  too  busy  for  dat  alway, 
Wen  he  's  leevin'  on  Chi-caw-go, 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

But  de  State  she  was  n't  de  only  place 

He  visit  all  up  an'  down, 
For  he  's  goin'  Cu-baw  an'  de  Mex-i-co, 
Were  he  's  killin'  two  bonder  dem  wiT  taureau, 
Wat  you  call  de  bull :  on  de  circus  show, 

O !  if  you  believe  heem  he  travel  roun' . 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

So  of  course  w'en  ma  broder  was  gettin'  home 

All  the  peop'  on  de  parish  come 
Every  night  on  de  parlor  for  hear  heem  tell 
How  he  foller  de  brave  Generale  Roosvel' 
Wen  rough  rider  feller  dey  fight  lak  hell 

An'  he  walk  on  de  front  wit'  great  beeg  drum, 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

An'  how  is  he  gainin'  dat  diamon'  ring? 

Way  off  on  de  Mex-i-co 
Were  he  's  pilin'  de  bull  wan  summer  day 
Till  it 's  not  easy  haulin'  dem  all  away, 
An'  de  lady  dey  're  t'rowin'  heem  large  bouquet 
For  dey  lak  de  style  he  was  keel  taureau, 

Mon  frere  Camille. 
165 


MON  FRERE  CAMILLE 

Wall!  he  talk  dat  way  all  de  winter  t'roo, 

An'  hees  frien'  dey  was  tryin'  fin' 
Some  bull  on  de  county  dat  's  wil'  enough 
For  mon  frere  Camille,  but  it  's  purty  tough 
'Cos   de   farmer  's   not    raisin'     such    fightin' 

stuff 

An'  he  don't  want  not'ing  but  mos'    worse 
kin' 

Mon  frere  Camille. 


Dat 's  not  pleasan'  t'ing  mebbe  los'  hees  trade, 

If  we  don't  hurry  up,  for  sure, 
I  s'pose  you  t'ink  I  was  goin'  it  strong? 
Never  min',  somet'ing  happen  'fore  very  long 
It  '11  all  come  out  on  dis  leetle  song 

Wen  he  pass    on    de    house    of    Ma-dame 
Latour 

Camille,  mon  frere. 


"We  're  makin'  pique-nique  on  Denise  Latour 

For  helpin'  put  in  de  hay 
Too  bad  she  's  de  moder  large  famile'e 
An'  los'  de  bes'  husban'  she  never  see 
Wen  he  drown  on  de  reever,  poor  Jeremie, 
So   he   come  wit'   de  res'    of  de    gang    dat 
day, 

Camille,  mon  frere. 
166 


MON  FRERE  CAMILLE 

An'  affer  de  hay  it  was  put  away 

Don't  tak'  very  long  at  all, 
De  boy  an'  de  girl  she  was  lookin'  'roun ' 
For  havin'  more  fun  'fore  dey  lef  de  groun' 
An'  dey  see  leetle  bull,  mebbe  t'ree  honder  poun* 

An'  nex'  t'ing  I  hear  dem  call 

Mon  frere  Camille.. 

So  nice  leetle  feller  I  never  see 

Dat  bull  of  Ma-dame  Latour 
Wit'  curly  hair  on  de  front  hees  head 
An'  quiet?  jus'  sam'  he  was  almos'  dead 
An'  fat?  wall!  de  chil'ren  dey  see  heem  fed 

So  he  's  not  goin'  keel  heem  I  'm  very  sure, 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

But  de  girl  kip  teasin'  an'  ole  Ma-dame 

She  say,  "You  can  go  ahead 
He  cos'  me  four  dollarre  six  mont'  ago 
So  if  anyt'ing  happen  ma  small  taureau, 
Who  's  pay  me  dat  monee  I  lak  to  know?" 
An'  he  answer,  "Dat 's  me  w'en  I  keel  heem 
dead" 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

Den  he  feex  beeg  knife  on  de  twelve  foot  pole, 

So  de  chil'ren  commence  to  cry 
An'  he  jomp  on  de  fence,  an'  yell,  "Hooraw" 
167 


MON  FRERE  CAMILLE 

An'  shout  on  de  leetle  French  bull,  "Dis  done! 
Ain't  you  scare  w'en  you  see  feller  from  Cubaw? ' ' 
An'  he  show  heem  hees  red  necktie, 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

L'petit  taureau  w'en  he  see  dat  tie 

He  holler  for  half  a  mile 
Den  he  jomp  on  de  leg  an'  he  raise  de  row 
Ba  Golly!     I  'm  sure  I  can  see  heem  now. 
An'  dey  run  w'en  dey  hear  heem,  de  noder  cow 

Den  he  say,  "  Dat  bull  must  be  surely  wil' " 

Mon  frere  Camille. 

But  de  bull  don't  care  w'at  he  say  at  all, 

For  he  's  watchin'  dat  red  necktie 
An'  w'en  ma  broder  he  push  de  pole 
I  'm  sure  it 's  makin'  some  purty  large  hole, 
If  de  bull  be  dere,  but  ma  blood  run  col' 

For  de  nex'  t'ing  I  hear  heem  cry, 

Camille,  mon  frere. 

No  wonder  he  cry,  for  dat  sapree  bull 

He  's  yell  leetle  bit  some  more, 
Den  he  ketch  ma  broder  dat  small  taureau 
Only  cos'  four  dollarre  six  mont'  ago 
An'  he  's  t'rowin'  heem  up  from  de  groun'  below 
Wan  tarn,  two  tarn,  till  he  's  feelin'  sore, 

Camille,  mon  frere. 
1 68 


THE  HABITANT'S   SUMMER 

An'  w'en  ma  broder  's  come  down  agen 

I  s'pose  he  mus'  change  hees  min' 
An'  mebbe  t'ink  if  it 's  all  de  sam' 
He  '11  keel  dat  bull  w'en  he  get  more  tarn 
For  dere  he  was  runnin'  wit'  ole  Ma-dame 

De  chil'ren,  de  bull,  an'  de  cow  behin' 

Camille,  mon  frere. 


So  dat 's  de  reason  he  's  firse  class  blood 
W'en  he  come  off  de  State  las'  fall 

Wearin'  hees  boot  a  la  mode  box  toe 

An'  diamon'  pin  on  hees  shirt  also 

Sam'  as  dem  feller  on  Chi-caw-go 
But  now  he  's  no  blood  at  all, 

Camille,  mon  frere. 


The  Habitant's  Summer 

f~\  WHO  can  blame  de  winter,  never  min'  de 

hard  he  's  blowin' 
'Cos  w'en  de  tam  is  comin'  for  passin'  on  hees 

roun' 
De  firse  t'ing  he  was  doin'  is  start  de  sky  a 

snowin' 

An'  mak'  de  nice  w'ite  blanket,  for  cover  up  de 
groun'. 

169 


THE  HABITANT'S   SUMMER 

An'  de  groun'  she  go  a'sleepin*  t'roo  all  de  stormy 

season, 
Restin'  from  her  work  las'  summer,  till  she  's 

waken  by  de  rain 
Dat  le  bon   Dieu  sen'   some  morning,  an1   of 

course  dat  's  be  de  reason 
Ev'ry  year  de  groun'  she  's  lookin'  jus'  as 
fresh  an'  young  again. 


Den  you  geev  her  leetle  sunshine,  w'en  de  snow 

go  off  an'  leave  her 
Let  de  sout'  win'  blow  upon  her,  an'  you  see 

beeg  changes  now 
Wit'  de  steam  arisin'  from  her  jus'  de  sam'  she 

got  de  fever, 

An'  not  many  day  is  passin'  w'en  she  's  ready 
for  de  plow. 


We  don't  bodder  wit'  no  spring-tarn  w'ere  de 

rain  she  's  alway  fallin', 
Two,   t'ree  mont',   or  mebbe  longer,  on  de 

place  beyon'  de  sea, 
W'ere  some  bird  he  's  nam'  de  cuckoo,  spen'  de 

mos'  hees  tarn  a-callin' 

But  for  fear  he  wet  hees  fedder,  hide  away 
upon  de  tree. 

170 


THE  HABITANT'S   SUMMER 

On  de  swamp  beside  de  reever,  mebbe  jus'  about 

de  fly-tarn 
Were  it 's  very  hard  to  see  heem,  we  hear  de 

wo-wa-raw, 
Dat  's  w'at  you  call  de  bull-frog,  singin'  "more 

rum,"  all  de  night-tarn. 
He  's  only  kin'  of  cuckoo  we  got  on  Canadaw. 


No,  we  have  n't  got  dat  feller,  but  we  got  some 

bird  can  beat  heem, 
An'  we  hear  dem,  an'  we  see  dem,  jus'  so  soon 

de  winter  go, 
So  never  min'  de  cuckoo  for  we  're  not  afraid  to 

meet  heem, 

W'enever  he  was  ready,  wit'  our  own  petits 
oiseaux. 


An*  dey  almos'  come  togeder,  lak  de  spring  an' 

summer  wedder, 
Blue-bird  wan    day,    pie-blanche    nex'    day, 

geevin'  out  deir  leetle  note, 
Affer  dat  we  see  de  robin,  an*  de  gouglou  on  de 

medder, 

Den  le  roi,  de  red  bird  's  comin',  dressim  on 
hees  sojer  coat. 


THE  HABITANT'S   SUMMER 

Wen  de  grosbec  on  de  pine  tree,  wak'  you  early 

wit'  hees  singin', 
Wen  you  lissen  to  de  pa'tridge  a-beatin'  on 

hees  drum, 
Wen  de  w'ole  place  roun'  about  you  wit'  musi- 

que  is  a-ringin', 

Den  you  know  de  winter  's  over,  an'  de  sum- 
mer day  is  come. 


See  de  apple  blossom  showin',  see  de  clover  how 

it 's  growin' 
Watch  de  trout,  an'  way  dey  're  playin'  on  de 

reever  down  below, 
Ah!  de  cunning  leetle  feller,  easy  see  how  well 

dey  're  knowin' 

We  're  too  busy  now  for  ketch  dem  an'  dat  's 
w'y  dey  're  jompin'  so. 


For  de  mos'  fine  summer  season  don't  las'  too 

long,  an'  we  know  it, 
So  we  're  workin'  ev'rybody,  w'ile  de  sun  is 

warm  an'  clear, 
Dat 's  de  tam  for  plant  de  barley,  an'  de  injun 

corn  we  sow  it, 

Wen  de  leaf  upon  de  maple  's  jus'  de  size  of 
squirrel's  ear. 

172 


THE  HABITANT'S  SUMMER 

'Noder  job  is  feexin'  fences,  if  we  don't  be  lak  de 

las'  year, 
Wen  de  Durham  bull  he  's  pullin'  nearly  all 

de  fence  away, 
An'  dat  sapree  champion  taureau  let  de  cattle 

out  de  pasture 

So  dey  're  playin'  on  de  devil  wit'  de  oat  an' 
wit'  de  hay. 


Yass,  de  farmer  's  offen  worry,  an'  it  sometam 

mak'  heem  snappy, 
For  no  sooner  wan  job  's  finish,  dan  he  got  two 

t'ousan'  more, 
But  he  's  glad  for  see  de  summer,  w'en  all  de 

worl'  she  's  happy, 

An'  ev'ryt'ing  aroun'  heem  was  leevin'  out 
o'  door. 


Now  de  ole  sheep  's  takin'  young  wan  up  de  hill- 
side, an'  dey  feed  dem 
Were  de  nice  short  grass  is  growin'  sweeter 

dan  it  grow  below, 
Ev'ry  morning  off  dey  're  goin'  an'  it 's  pleasan' 

t'ing  to  see  dem 

Lookin'  jus'  lak  leetle  snow-ball  all  along  de 
green  coteau. 

i73 


THE  HABITANT'S   SUMMER 

Dere  's  de  hen  too,  wit'  her  chicken,  O  how 

moche  dey  mak'  her  bodder 
Watchin'  dem  mos'  ev'ry  minute,  fearin'  dey 

was  go  astray 
But  w'en  mountain  hawk  he  's  comin'  den  how 

quick  dey  fin'  de  moder 

An'  get  onderneat'  her  fedder  till  de  danger  's 
pass  away. 


An'  jus'  see  de  turkey  gobbler,  an'  lissen  to  heem 

talkin' 
No  wonder  he  's  half  crazee,  an'  spikin'  out 

so  loud, 
W'en  you  meet  heem  on  de  roadside  wit'  hees 

wife  an'  chil'ren  walkin', 

It 's  kipin'  heem  so  busy  lookin'  affer  such  a 
crowd. 


Dat  's  about  de  way  we  're  leevin',  dat  's  a  few 

t'ing  we  're  seein', 
"Wen  de  nice  warm  summer  sun  is  shinin'  down 

on  Canadaw, 
An'  no  matter  w'at  I  'm  hearin',  still  I  never  feel 

lak  bein' 
No  oder  stranger  feller,  me,  but  only  habitant. 


LITTLE  LAC  GRENIER 

For  dere  's  no  place  lak  our  own  place,  don't 

care  de  far  you  're  goin' 
Dat  's  w'at  de  whole  worl's  sayin',  w'enever 

dey  come  here, 
'Cos  we  got  de  fines'  contree,  an'  de  beeges' 

reever  flowin' 

An'  le  bon  Dieu  sen'  de  sunshine  nearly  twelve 
mont'  ev'ry  year. 

Little  Lac  Grenier 
(Gren-  Yay) 

T    EETLE  Lac  Grenier,  she  's  all  alone, 

Right  on  de  mountain  top, 
But  cloud  sweepin'  by,  will  fin'  tarn  to  stop 
No  matter  how  quickly  he  want  to  go, 
So  he  11  kiss  leetle  Grenier  down  below. 

Leetle  Lac  Grenier,  she  's  all  alone, 
Up  on  de  mountain  high 
But  she  never  feel  lonesome,  'cos  for  w'y? 
So  soon  as  de  winter  was  gone  away 
De  bird  come  an'  sing  to  her  ev'ry  day. 

Leetle  Lac  Grenier,  she  's  all  alone, 

Back  on  de  mountain  dere, 

But  de  pine  tree  an'  spruce  stan*  ev'rywhere 

Along  by  de  shore,  an'  mak'  her  warm 

For  dey  kip  off  de  win'  an'  de  winter  storm. 


LITTLE  LAC  GRENIER 

Leetle  Lac  Grenier,  she  's  all  alone, 

No  broder,  no  sister  near, 

But  de  swallow  will   fly,   an'   de  beeg  moose 

deer 

An'  caribou  too,  will  go  long  way 
To  drink  de  sweet  water  of  Lac  Grenier. 


Leetle  Lac  Grenier,  I  see  you  now, 
Onder  de  roof  of  spring 
Ma  canoe  's  afloat,  an'  de  robin  sing, 
De  lily  's  beginnin'  her  summer  dress, 
An'   trout  's   wakin'   up  from  hees    long   long 
res'. 


Leetle  Lac  Grenier,  I  'm  happy  now, 
Out  on  de  ole  canoe, 
For  I  'm  all  alone,  ma  chere,  wit'  you, 
An'  if  only  a  nice  light  rod  I  had 
I  'd  try  dat  fish  near  de  lily  pad ! 


Leetle  Lac  Grenier,  O !  let  me  go, 
Don't  spik  no  more, 

For  your  voice  is  strong  lak  de  rapid's  roar, 
An'  you  know  youse'f  I  'm  too  far  away, 
For  visit  you  now — lee  tie  Lac  Grenier! 
176 


THE  WINDIGO 

The  Windigo 
O  easy  wit'  de  paddle,  an'  steady  wit'  de 


Geev  rudder  to  de  bes'  man  you  got  among  de 

crew, 
Let  ev'ry  wan  be  quiet,  don't  let  dem  sing  no 

more 

Wen  you  see  de  islan'  risin'  out  of  Grande 
Lac  Manitou. 


Above  us  on  de  sky  dere,  de  summer  cloud  may 

float 

Aroun'  us  on  de  water  de  ripple  never  show, 
But    somet'ing   down    below    us   can   rock  de 

stronges'  boat, 

Wen  we  're  comin'  near  de  islan'  of  de  spirit 
Windigo ! 


De  carcajou  may  breed  dere,  an'  otter  sweem  de 

pool 
De  moosh-rat  mak'  de  mud  house,  an'  beaver 

buil'  hees  dam 

An'  beeges'  Injun  hunter  on  all  de  T6te  de  Boule 
Will  never  set  hees  trap  dere  from  spring  to 
summer  tarn. 


THE  WINDIGO 

But  he  '11  bring  de  fines'  presen'  from  upper  St. 

Maurice 

De  loup  marin  an'  black-fox  from  off  de  Hod- 
son  Bay 
An'  hide  dem  on  de  islan'  an'  smoke  de  pipe  of 

peace 

So  Windigo  will  help  heem  w'en  he  travel  far 
away. 


We  shaintee  on  dat  islan'  on  de  winter  seexty- 

nine 
If  you  look  you  see  de  clearin'  aroun'  de  Coo 

Coo  Cache, 
An'  pleasan'  place  enough  too  among  de  spruce 

an'  pine 

If   foreman   on    de   shaintee   is  n't    Cyprien 
Palache. 


Beeg  feller,  alway  watchin'  on  hees  leetle  weasel 

eye, 
De  gang  dey  can't  do  not'ing  but  he  see  dem 

purty  quick 
Wit'  hees  "Hi  dere,  w'at  you  doin'?"  ev'ry  tarn 

he  fs  passin'  by 

An'  de  bad  word  he  was  usin',  wall!  it  offen 
mak'  me  sick. 

178 


THE  WINDIGO 

An'  he  carry  silver  w'issle  wit'  de  chain  aroun' 

hees  neck 
For  fear  he  mebbe  los'    it,    an'    ev'rybody 

say 
He  mus'  buy  it  from  de  devil  w'en  he  's  passin' 

on  Kebeck 

But  if  it 's  true  dat  story,  I  dunno  how  moche 
he  pay. 


Dere  's  plaintee  on  de  shaintee  can  sing  lak  ros- 

signol 
Pat  Clancy  play  de  fiddle,  an'  Jimmie  Char- 

bonneau 
Was    bring    hees    concertina    from    below    St. 

Fereol 

So  we  get  some  leetle  pleasure  till  de  long, 
long  winter  go. 


But  if  we  start  up  singin'  affer  supper  on  de 

camp 
"Par  derriere  chez  ma  tante,"  or  "Mattawa 

wishtay," 
De  boss  he  '11  come  along  den,  an'  put  heem  out 

de  lamp, 

An'  only  stop  hees  swearin'  w'en  we  all  go 
marche  coucher. 

179 


THE  WINDIGO 

We  've  leetle  boy  dat  winter  from  Po-po-lo-be- 

lang 
Hees    fader    an'    hees    moder    dey  're    bote 

A-ben-a-kee 
An'  he  's  comin',  Injun  Johnnie,  wit'  some  man 

de  lumber  gang 

Was  fin'  heem  nearly  starvin'  above  on  Lac 
Souris. 


De  ole  man  an'  de  woman  is  tryin'  pass  de  Soo 
W'en  water  's  high  on  spring  tarn,  an'  of  course 

dey  're  gettin'  drown', 
For  even  smartes'    Injun  should  n't  fool  wit' 

birch  canoe, 

Were  de  reever  lak  toboggan  on  de  hill  is 
runnin'  down. 


So  dey  lef  de  leetle  feller  all  alone  away  up 

dere 
Till  lumber  gang  is  ketchin'  him  an'  bring  him 

on  de  Cache, 
But  better  if  he  's  stayin'  wit*  de  wolf  an'  wit' 

de  bear 

Dan  come  an'  tak'  hees  chances  wit'  Cyprien 
Palache. 

1 80 


THE  WINDIGO 

I  wonder  how  he  stan'  it,   w'y  he  never  run 

away 
For  Cyprien  lak  neeger  he  is  treat  heem  all 

de  sam' 
An'  if  he  's  wantin'  Johnnie  on  de  night  or  on  de 

day 

God  help  heem  if  dat  w'issle  she  was  below  de 
secon*  tarn! 


De  boy  he  don't  say  not'ing,  no  wan  never  see 

heem  cry 
He  's  got  de  Injun  in  heem,  you  can  see  it  on 

de  face, 
An'  only  for  us  feller  an'  de  cook,  he  '11  surely 

die 

Long  before  de  winter  's  over,  long  before  we 
lef '  de  place, 


But  I  see  heem  hidin'  somet'ing  wan  morning 

by  de  shore 
So  firse  tarn  I  was  passin'  I  scrape  away  de 

snow 
An'  it 's  rabbit  skin  he  's  ketchin'  on  de  swamp 

de  day  before, 

Leetle  Injun  Johnnie  's  workin'  on  de  spirit 
Windigo. 

181 


THE  WINDIGO 

December  's  come  in  stormy,  an'  de  snow-dreef 

fill  de  road 

Can  only  see  de  chimley  an'  roof  of  our  cabane, 
An'   stronges'    team  in  stable  fin'   it  plaintee 

heavy  load 

Haulin'  sleigh  an'  two  free  pine  log  t'roo  de 
wood   an'   beeg   savane. 


An'    I   travel  off  wan  day  me,   wit'   Cyprien 

Palache, 
Explorin'  for  new  timber,  w'en  de  win'  begin 

to  blow, 
So  we  hurry  on  de  snow-shoe  for  de  camp  on  Coo 

Coo  Cache 

If  de  nor'  eas'  storm  is  comin',  was  de  bes' 
place  we  dunno — 


An'  we  're  gettin'  safe  enough  dere  wit'  de  storm 

close  on  our  heel, 
But  w'en  our  belt  we  loosen  for  takin'  off  de 

coat 
De  foreman  commence  screamin'  an'  mon  Dieu 

it  mak'  us  feel 

Lak  he  got  t'ree  t'ousan'  devil  all  fightin'  on 
hees  t'roat. 

182 


THE  WINDIGO 

Cyprien  is  los'  hees  w'issle,  Cyprien  is  los'  hees 

chain 
Injun  Johnnie  he  mus'  fin'  it,  even  if  de  win' 

is  high 
He  can  never  show  hese'f  on  de  Coo  Coo  Cache 

again 

Till  he  bring  dat  silver  w'issle  an'  de  chain  it  '& 
hangin'  by. 


So  he  sen'  heem  on  hees  journey  never  knowin* 

he  come  back 
T'roo  de  rough  an'  stormy  wedder,  t'roo  de 

pile   of   dreefin'   snow 
"Wat  's  de  use  of  bein'  Injun  if  you  can't  smell 

out  de  track?" 

Dat 's  de  way  de  boss  is  talkin',  an'  poor 
Johnnie  have  to  go. 


If  you  want  to  hear  de  musiqtie  of  de  nort'  win* 

as  it  blow 
An'  lissen  to  de  hurricane  an'  learn  de  way  it 

sing 
An'  feel  how  small  de  man  is  w'en  he  's  leevin' 

here  below, 

You  should  try  it  on  de  shaintee  w'en  she  's 
doin'  all  dem  t'ing ! 
183 


THE  WINDIGO 

Wat 's  dat  soun'  lak  somet'ing  cryin'  all  aroun' 

us  ev'ryw'ere? 
We  never  hear  no  tender  upon  de  winter 

storm! 
Dey  're  shoutin'  to  each  oder  dem  voices  on  de 

air, 

An'  it 's  red  hot  too  de  stove  pipe,  but  no 
wan  's  feelin'  warm! 


Get  out  an'  go  de  woodpile  before  I  freeze  to 


Cyprien  de  boss  is  yellin'  an'  he  's  lookin'  cole 

an'  w'ite 
Lak  dead  man  on  de  coffin,  but  no  wan  go,  you 

bet, 
For  if  it  's  near  de  woodpile,   't  is  n't  close 

enough  to-night! 


Kon!  we  ain't  afraid  of  not'ing,  but  we  don't 

lak  takin'   chance, 
An'  w'en  we  hear  de  spirit  of  de  wiT  A-ben-a- 

kee 
Singin'  war  song  on  de  chimley,  makin'  all  dem 

Injun  dance 

Raisin'  row  dere,  you  don't  ketch  us  on  no 
woodpile — no  siree! 
184 


THE  WINDIGO 

O !  de  lonesome  night  we  're  passin'  w'ile  we  're 

stayin'   on   dat  place! 
An'   ev'rybody  sheever  w'en  Jimmie   Char- 

bonneau 
Say  he  's  watchin'  on  de  winder  an'  he  see  de 

Injun  face 

An'  it 's  lookin'  so  he  tole  us,  jus'  de  sam'  as 
Windigo. 


Den  again  mese'f  I  'm  hearin'  somet'ing  callin', 

an'  it  soun' 
Lak  de  voice  of  leetle  Johnnie  so  I  'm  passin' 

on  de  door 
But  de  pine  stump  on  de  clearin'  wit'  de  w'ite 

sheet  all  aroun' 

Mak'  me  t'ink  of  churchyar'  tombstone,  an' 
I  can't  go  dere  no  more 


Wat 's  de  reason  we  're  so  quiet  w'ile  our  heart 

she  's  goin'  fas' 
Wy  is  no  wan  ax  de  question?  dat  we  're  all 

afraid  to  spik? 
Was  it  wing  of  flyin'  wiT  bird  strek  de  winder  as 

it  pass, 

Or  de  sweesh  of  leetle  snow-ball  w'en  de  v,  in* 
is  playin'  trick? 

185 


THE  WINDIGO 

Wen  we  bull'  de  Coo  Coo  shaintee,  she  's  as 

steady  as  a  rock, 
Did  you  feel  de  shaintee  shakin'  de  sam,  she  's 

goin'  to  fall? 
Dere  's  somet'ing  on  de  doorway!  an'  now  we 

hear  de  knock 

An'  up  above  de  hurricane  we  hear  de  w'issle 
call. 


Callin',  callin'  lak  a  bugle,  an1  he  's  jompin'  up 

de  boss 
From  hees  warm  bed  on  de  corner  an'  open 

wide  de  door — 

Dere  's  no  use  foller  affer  for  Cyprien  is  los' 
An'   de  Coo  Coo  Cache  an'   shaintee  he  '11 
never  see  no  more. 


At  las'  de  morning  's  comin',  an'  storm  is  blow 

away 
An'   outside  on  de  shaintee   young  Jimmie 

Charbonneau 
He  's  seein  track  of  snowshoe,  'bout  de  size  of 

double  sleigh 

Dere  's  no  mistak'  it 's  makin'  by  de  spirit 
Windigo. 

1 86 


NATIONAL  POLICY 

An'  de  leetle  Injun  Johnnie,  he  's  all  ri^ht  j 

onderstan' 
For  you  '11  fin'  heem  up  de  reever  above  de 

Coo  Coo  Cache 
Ketchin'  mink  and  ketchin'   beaver,   an  'he  's 

growin'  great  beeg  man 
But  dat  's  de  las'  we  're  hearin'  of  Cyprien 
Palache. 


National  Policy 

/"\UR    fader    lef    ole    France    behin',    dat 's 

many  year  ago, 
An'  how  we  get  along  since  den,  wall!  ev'ry 

body  know, 
Few  t'ousan'  firse  class  familee  was  only  come 

dat  tarn, 
An'  now  we  got  pure  Canayens;  t'ree  million 

peop'  bedamme! 

Dat 's  purty  smart  beez-nesse,  I  t'ink  we  done 

on  Canadaw, 
An'  we  don't  mak'  no  grande  hooraw,  but  do  it 

tranquillement 
So  if  we  're  braggin'  now  an'  den,  we  mus'  be 

excuzay, 
For  no  wan  's  never  see  before  de  record  bus' 

dat  way. 

187 


NATIONAL  POLICY 

An'  w'y  should  we  be  feel  ashame,  'cos  we  have 

boy  an'  girl? 
No  matter  who  was  come  along,  we  '11  match 

agen  de  worl' ; 
Wit'  plaintee  boy  lak  w'at  we  got  no.  danger  be 

afraid, 
An'  all  de  girl  she  look  too  nice  for  never  come 

ole  maid. 


If  we  have  only  small  cor-nerre  de  sam'  we  have 

before 
Wen  ole  Champlain  an'  Jacques  Cartier  firse 

jomp  upon  de  shore 
Dere  's  no  use  hurry  den  at  all,  but  now  you 

understan' 
We  got  to  whoop  it  up,  ba  gosh!  for  occupy  de 

Ian'! 


W'at 's  use  de  million  acre,  w'at 's  use  de  belle 

riviere, 
An*  t'ing  lak  dat  if  we  don't  have  somebody 

leevin'  dere? 
W'at  's  mak'  de  worl'  look  out  for  us,  an'  kip 

de  nation  free 
Unless  we  're  raisin'  all  de  tarn  some  fine  large 

familee? 

1 88 


NATIONAL  POLICY 

Don't  seem  so  long  we  buil'  dat  road,  Chemin 

de  Pacifique, 
Tak'  bonder  dollar  pass  on  dere,  an'  nearly  two 

t'ree  week, 
Den  look  dat  place  it  freeze  so  hard,  on  w'at 

you  call  Klon-dak, 
Wall !  if  we  have  to  fill  dem  up,  we  got  some  large 

contrac' ! 


Of  course  we  're  not  doin'  bad  jus'  now ;  so  ev'ry- 

body  say, 

But  we  dunno  de  half  we  got  on  Canadaw  to- 
day, 
An'  still  she  's  comin'  beeger,  an*  never  mak' 

no  fuss, 
So  if  we  don't  look  out,  firse  t'ing,  she  '11  get 

ahead  of  us. 


De  more  I  t'ink,  de  more  I  'm  scare,  de  way 

she  grow  so  fas', 
An'  worse  of  all  it 's  hard  to  say  how  long  de 

boom  '11  las' 
But  if  she  don't  go  slower  an'  ease  up  leetle 

bit, 

Bimeby  de  Canayens  will  be  some  dead  bird  on 
de  pit. 

189 


AUTUMN  DAYS 

Den  ev'ry  body  hip  hooraw!  an'  sen'  de  familee 
Along  de  reever,  t'roo  de  wood,  an'  on  de  grande 

prairie, 
Dat  's  only  way  I  'm  t'inkin'  arrange  de  w'ole 

affaire 
An'  mebbe  affer  w'ile  dere  won't  be  too  moche 

Ian'  for  spare. 

Autumn  Days 

TN  dreams  of  the  night  I  hear  the  call 

Of  wild  duck  scudding  across  the  lake, 
In  dreams  I  see  the  old  convent  wall, 
Where  Ottawa's  waters  surge  and  break. 

But  Hercule  awakes  me  ere  the  sun 

Has  painted  the  eastern  skies  with  gold. 

Hercule!  true  knight  of  the  rod  and  gun 
As  ever  lived  in  the  days  of  old. 

"Arise!  tho'  the  moon  hangs  high  above, 
The  sun  will  soon  usher  in  the  day, 

And  the  southerly  wind  that  sportsmen  love 
Is  blowing  across  St.  Louis  Bay." 

The  wind  is  moaning  among  the  trees, 
Along  the  shore  where  the  shadows  lie, 

And  faintly  borne  on  the  fresh'ning  breeze 
From  yonder  point  comes  the  loon's  wild  cry 
190 


.        AUTUMN  DAYS 

Like  diamonds  flashing  athwart  the  tide 
The  dancing  moonbeams  quiver  and  glow, 

As  out  on  the  deep  we  swiftly  glide 
To  our  distant  Mecca,  lie  Perrot. 

He  Perrot  far  to  the  southward  lies, 

Pointe  Claire  on  the  lee  we  leave  behind, 

And  eager  we  gaze  with  longing  eyes, 
For  faintest  sign  of  the  deadly  "blind." 

Past  the  point  where  Ottawa's  current  flows — 
A  league  from  St.  Lawrence  golden  sands — 

Out  in  the  bay  where  the  wild  grass  grows 
We  mark  the  spot  where  our  ambush  stands. 

We  enter  it  just  as  the  crimson  flush 
Of  morn  illumines  the  hills  with  light, 

And  patiently  wait  the  first  mad  rush 
Of  pinions  soaring  in  airy  flight. 

A  rustle  of  wings  from  over  there, 
Where  all  night  long  on  watery  bed 

The  flocks  have  slept — and  the  morning  air 
Rings  with  the  messenger  of  lead. 

Many  a  pilgrim  from  far  away 

Many  a  stranger  from  distant  seas, 

Is  dying  to-day  on  St.  Louis  Bay, 

To  requiem  sung  by  the  southern  breeze. 
191 


MADELEINE  VERCHERES 

And  thus  till  the  sound  of  the  vesper  bell 
Comes  stealing  o'er  Ottawa's  dusky  stream, 

And  the  ancient  light-house  we  know  so  well 
Lights  up  the  tide  with  its  friendly  gleam. 

Then  up  with  the  anchor  and  ply  the  oar, 
For  homeward  again  our  course  must  bear, 

Farewell  to  the  "blind"  by  He  Perrot  's  shore, 
And  welcome  the  harbor  of  old  Pointe  Claire ! 


Madeleine  Vercheres 

'  'VE  told  you  many  a  tale,  my  child,  of  the 

old  heroic  days 

Of  Indian  wars  and  massacre,  of  villages  ablaze 
With  savage  torch,   from  Ville   Marie  to  the 

Mission  of  Trois  Rivieres 
But  never  have  I  told  you  yet,  of  Madeleine 

Vercheres. 

Summer  had  come  with  its  blossoms,  and  gaily 
the  robin  sang 

And  deep  in  the  forest  arches  the  axe  of  the 
woodman  rang 

Again  in  the  waving  meadows,  the  sun-browned 
farmers  met 

And  out  on  the  green  St.  Lawrence,  the  fisher- 
man spread  his  net. 
192 


MADELEINE  VERCHERES 

And  so  through  the  pleasant  season,   till  the 

days  of  October  came 
When  children  wrought  with  their  parents,  and 

even  the  old  and  lame 
With  tottering  frames  and  footsteps,  their  feeble 

labors  lent 
At  the  gathering  of  the  harvest  le  bon  Dieu 

himself  had  sent. 


For  news  there  was  none  of  battle,  from  the 

forts  on  the  Richelieu 
To  the  gates  of  the  ancient  city,   where  the 

flag  of  King  Louis  flew 
All  peaceful  the  skies  hung  over  the  seigneurie 

of  Verckeres, 
Like  the  calm  that  so  often  cometh,  ere  the 

hurricane  rends  the  air. 


And  never  a  thought  of  danger  had  the  Seigneur 

sailing  away, 
To  join  the  soldiers  of  Carignan,  where  down  at 

Quebec  they  lay, 
But  smiled  on  his  little  daughter,  the  maiden 

Madeleine, 
And  a  necklet  of  jewels  promised  her,   when 

home  he  should  come  again. 

13  193 


MADELEINE  VERCHERES 

And  ever  the  days  passed  swiftly,  and  careless 

the  workmen  grew 
For  the  months  they  seemed  a  hundred,  since 

the  last  war-bugle  blew. 
Ah!   little  they   dreamt   on   their  pillows,   the 

farmers  of  Vercheres, 
That   the  wolves   of  the   southern  forest  had 

scented  the  harvest  fair. 


Like  ravens   they   quickly   gather,   like   tigers 

they  watch  their  prey 
Poor  people!  with  hearts  so  happy,  they  sang 

as  they  toiled  away. 
Till  the  murderous  eyeballs  glistened,  and  the 

tomahawk  leaped  out  • 

And  the  banks  of  the  green  St.  Lawrence  echoed 

the  savage  shout. 


"Oh  mother  of  Christ  have  pity,"  shrieked  the 

women  in  despair 
"This  is  no  time  for  praying,"  cried  the  young 

Madeleine  Vercheres, 
"Aux  armes!  aux  armes!  les  Iroquois!  quick  to 

your  arms  and  guns 
Fight  for  your  God  and  country  and  the  lives 

of  the  innocent  ones." 
194 


MADELEINE  VERCHERES 

And  she  sped  like  a  deer  of  the  mountain,  when 

beagles  press  close  behind 
And  the  feet  that  would  follow  after,  must  be 

swift  as  the  prairie  wind. 
Alas!  for  the  men  and  women,  and  little  ones 

that  day 
For  the  road  it  was  long  and  weary,  and  the  fort 

it  was  far  away. 


But  the  fawn  had  outstripped  the  hunters,  and 

the  palisades  drew  near, 
And  soon  from  the  inner  gateway  the  war-bugle 

rang  out  clear; 
Gallant  and  clear  it  sounded,  with  never  a  note 

of  despair, 
'T  was  a  soldier  of  France's  challenge,  from  the 

young  Madeleine  Vercheres. 


"And  this  is  my  little  garrison,  my  brothers 

Louis  and  Paul? 
With   soldiers   two — and   a   cripple?   may   the 

Virgin  pray  for  us  all. 
But  we  Ve  powder  and  guns  in  plenty,  and  we  '11 

fight  to  the  latest  breath 
And  if  need  be  for  God  and  country,  die  a  brave 

soldier's  death. 


MADELEINE  VERCHERES 

"Load  all  the  carabines  quickly,  and  whenever 

you  sight  the  foe 
Fire  from  the  upper  turret,  and  the  loopholes 

down  below. 
Keep  up  the  fire,   brave  soldiers,   though  the 

fight  may  be  fierce  and  long 
And  they  '11  think  our  little  garrison  is  more 

than  a  hundred  strong." 


So  spake  the  maiden  Madeleine,  and  she  roused 

the  Norman  blood 
That  seemed  for  a  moment  sleeping,  and  sent 

it  like  a  flood 
Through    every   heart    around    her,    and    they 

fought  the  red  Iroquois 
As  fought  in  the  old  time  battles,  the  soldiers 

of  Carignan. 


And  they  say  the  black  clouds  gathered,  and  a 

tempest  swept  the  sky 
And  the  roar  of  the  thunder  mingled  with  the 

forest  tiger's  cry 
But    still   the   garrison   fought   on,    while    the 

lightning's  jagged  spear 
Tore  a  hole  in  the  night's  dark  curtain,   and 

showed  them  a  foeman  near. 
196 


MADELEINE  VERCHERES 

And  the  sun  rose  up  in  the  morning,  and  the 

color  of  blood  was  he 
Gazing  down  from  the  heavens  on  the  little 

company. 
"Behold!  my  friends!"  cried  the  maiden,  "'tis 

a  warning  lest  we  forget 
Though  the  night  saw  us  do  our  duty,  our  work 

is  not  finished  yet." 


And  six  days  followed  each  other,  and  feeble 

her  limbs  became 
Yet  the  maid  never  sought  her  pillow,  and  the 

flash  of  the  carabines'  flame 
Illumined  the  powder-smoked  faces,  aye,  even 

when  hope  seemed  gone 
And  she  only  smiled  on  her  comrades,  and  told 

them  to  fight,  fight  on. 


And  she  blew  a  blast  on  the  bugle,  and  lo!  from 
the  forest  black 

Merrily,  merrily  ringing,  an  answer  came  peal- 
ing back 

Oh!  pleasant  and  sweet  it  sounded,  borne  on 
the  morning  air, 

For  it  heralded  fifty  soldiers,  with  gallant  De 
la  Monniere. 

197 


MADELEINE  VERCHERES 

And  when  he  beheld  the  maiden,  the  soldier 
of  Carignan, 

And  looked  on  the  little  garrison  that  fought 
the  red  Iroquois 

And  held  their  own  in  the  battle,  for  six  long 
weary  days, 

He  stood  for  a  moment  speechless,  and  mar- 
velled at  woman's  ways- 


Then  he  beckoned  the  men  behind  him  and 

steadily  they  advance 
And  with  carabines  uplifted,   the  veterans  of 

France 
Saluted  the  brave  young  Captain  so  timidly 

standing  there 
And  they,  fired  a  volley  in  honor  of  Madeleine 

Vercheres. 


And  this,  my  dear,  is  the  story  of  the  maiden 

Madeleine 
God  grant  that  we  in  Canada  may  never  see 

again 
Such  cruel  wars  and  massacres,  in  waking  or  in 

dream 
As  our  fathers  and  mothers  saw,  my  child,  in 

the  days  of  the  old  regime. 
198 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

The  "RoseDelima" 

'VT'OU  can  sew  heem  up  in  a  canvas  sack, 

An'  t'row  heem  over  boar' 
You  can  wait  till  de  ship  she  's  comin'  back 

Den  bury  heem  on  de  shore 
For  dead  man  w'en  he  's  dead  for  sure, 

Ain't  good  for  not'ing  at  all 
An*  he  '11  stay  on  de  place  you  put  heem 

Till  he 'hear  dat  bugle  call 
Dey  say  will  soun'  on  de  las',  las'  day 
W'en  ev'ry  t'ing  's  goin'  for  pass  away, 
But  down  on  de  Gulf  of  St.  Laurent 

Were  de  sea  an'  de  reever  meet 
An'  off  on  St.  Pierre  de  Miquelon, 

De  chil'ren  on  de  street 
Can  tole  you  story  of  Pierre  Guillaume, 

De  sailor  of  St.  Yvonne 
Dat 's  bringin'  de  "Rose  Delima"  home 

Affer  he  's  dead  an'  gone. 


He  was  stretch  heem  on  de  bed  an*  he  could  n't 

raise  hees  head 
So  dey  place  heem  near  de  winder  w'ere  he 

can  look  below, 
An'  watch  de  schooner  lie  wit'  her  topmas'  on 

de  sky, 

An'  oh!  how  mad  it  mak'  heem,  ole  Captinne 
Baribeau. 

199 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

For  she  's  de  fines'  boat  dat  never  was  afloat 
From  de  harbor  of  St.  Simon  to  de  shore  of 

New-fun-lan' 
She  can  almos'  dance  a  reel,  an'  de  sea  shell  on 

her  keel 

Wall!  you  count  dem  very  easy  on  de  finger 
of  your  han'. 


But  de  season  's  flyin'  fas',  an'  de  fall  is  nearly 

pas' 
An'    de   leetle    "Rose    Delima"    she's  doin' 

not 'ing  dere 
Only   pullin'   on  her  chain,   an'    wishin'    once 

again 

She  was  w'ere  de  black  fish  tumble,  an  jomp 
upon  de  air. 


But  who  can  tak'  her  out,  for  she  's  got  de  tender 

mout' 
Lak  a  trotter  on  de  race-course  dat  's  mebbe 

run  away 
If  he  's  not  jus'  handle  so — an'  ole  Captinne 

Baribeau 

Was  de  only  man  can  sail  her,  dat 's  w'at  dey 
offen  say. 

200 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

An'   now  he  's  lyin'   dere,   w'ere  de  breeze  is 

blow  hees  hair 
An'    he  's    hearin'   ev'ry    morning  de  "  Rose 

Delima  "  call, 
Sayin',  "Come  along  wit'  me,  an'  we  '11  off  across 

de  sea, 

For  I  'm  lonesome  waitin'  for  you,  Captinne 
Paul. 


"On    Anticosti    shore    we    hear    de     breaker 

roar 
An'    reef    of    Dead    Man's    Islan'    too    we 

know, 
But  we  never  miss  de  way,  no  matter  night  or 

day, 

De    'Rose    Delima'  schooner   an'    Captinne 
Baribeau." 


De  Captinne  cry  out  den,  so  de  house  is  shake 

again, 
"Come   here!   come   here,    an'    quickly,   ma 

daughter  Virginie, 
An'  let  me  hoi'  your  han',  for  so  long  as  I  can 

stan' 

I  '11  tak'  de  '  Rose  Delima, '  an'  sail  her  off  to 
sea." 

2OI 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

"No,  no,  ma  fader  dear,  you  're  better  stayin' 

here 

Till  de  cherry  show  her  blossom  on  de  spring, 
For  de  loon  he  's  flyin'  sout'  an'  de  fall  is  nearly 

out, 
Wen  de  wil'  bird  of  de  nort'  is  on  de  wing. 

"'But  fader  dear,  I  know  de  man  can  go  below 
Wit'   leetle  'Rose  Delima'  on   St.  Pierre   de 

Miquelon 
Hees  nam'  is  Pierre  Guillaume,  an'  he  '11  bring 

de  schooner  home 

Till  she  's  t'rowin'  out  her  anchor  on  de  port 
of  St.  Simon." 

"Ha!  Ha!  ma  Virginie,   it  isn't  hard  to  see 
You  lak  dat  smart  young  sailor  man  youse'f, 

I  s'pose  he  love  you  too,  but  I  tole  you  w'at 

I  do 
Wen  I  have  some  leetle  talk  wit'  heem  mese'f . 

"So  call  heem  up  de  stair:"  an'  w'en  he  's  stan- 

nin'  dere, 
De   Captinne   say,    "Young   feller,    you   see 

how  sick   I   be? 

De  poor  ole  Baribeau  has  n't  very  much  below 
Beside  de  'Rose  Delima,'  an'  hees  daughter 
Virginie. 

202 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

"An'  I  know  your  fader  well,  he  's  fine  man 

too,  Noel, 
An'    hees    nam'    was    comin'    offen    on    ma 

prayer — 

An'  if  your  sailor  blood  she  's  only  half  as  good 
You  can  sail  de  'Rose  Delima'  from  here  to 
any  w'ere. 

"You  love  ma  Virginie?  wall!  if  you  promise  me 

You  bring  de  leetle  schooner  safely  home 
From  St.  Pierre  de  Miquelon  to  de  port  of  St. 

Simon 

You  can  marry  on  ma  daughter,  Pierre  Guil- 
laume." 

An'  Pierre  he  answer  den,  "Ma  fader  was  your 

frien' 

An'  it  's  true  your  daughter  Virginie  I  love, 
Dat  schooner  she  '11  come  home,  or  ma  nam'  's 

not  Pierre  Guillaume 
I  swear  by  all  de  angel  up  above." 

So  de  wiT  bird  goin'  sout',  see  her  shake  de 

canvas  out, 
An*  soon  de  "Rose  Delima"  she  'sflyin'  down 

de  bay 

An'  poor  young  Virginie  so  long  as  she  can  see 
Kip  watchin'  on  dat  schooner  till  at  las'  she  's 
gone  away. 

203 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

Ho!  ho!  for  Gaspe"  cliff  w'en  de  win'  is  blowin* 

stiff, 
Ho !  ho !  for  Anticosti  w'ere  bone  of  dead  man 

lie! 
De   sailor    cimetiere!    God  help  de   beeg   ship 

dere 

If  dey  come  too  near  de  islan'  w'en  de  wave 
she  's  runnin'  high. 


It  's  locky  t'ing  he  know  de  way  he  ought  to  go 
It  's  locky  too  de  star  above,  he  know  dem 

ev'ry  wan 

For  God  he  mak'  de  star,  was  shinin'  up  so  far, 
So  he  trus'  no  oder  compass,  young  Pierre 
of  St.  Yvonne. 


An'  de  schooner  sail  away  pas'  Wolf  Islan'  an' 

Cape  Ray — 
W'ere   de   beeg   wave   fight  each  oder  roun' 

de  head  of  ole  Pointe  Blanc 
Only    gettin'    pleasan'    win',    till    she    tak'    de 

canvas  in 

An'   drop  de  anchor  over  on  St.  Pierre  de 
Miquelon. 

204 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

We  're  glad  to  see  some  more,  de  girl  upon  de 

shore, 
An'  Jean  Barbette  was  kipin'  Hotel  de  Sans- 

souci 
He  's  also  glad  we  come,  'cos  we  mak'  de  rafter 

hum; 

An'  w'en  we  're  stayin'  dere,  ma  foi!  we  spen' 
de  monee  free. 


But  Captinne  Pierre  Guillaume,  might  jus'  as 

well  be  home, 
For  he  don't  forget  his  sweetheart  an'   ole 

man  Baribeau, 

An1  so  he  stay  on  boar',  an'  fifty  girl  or  mere 
Less    dey   haul    heem    on    de    bowline,    dey 
could  n't  mak'  heem  go. 


Wall!  we  're  workin'  hard  an'  fas',  an'  de  cargo  's 

on  at  las' 
Two  honder  cask  of  w'isky,  de  fines'  on  de 

worl' ! 
So  good-bye  to  Miquelon,  an'  hooraw  for  St. 

Simon — 

An'  au  revoir  to  Jean  Barbette,  an'  don't  for- 
get de  girl. 

205 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

You  can  hear  de  schooner  sing,  w'en  she  open 

out  her  wing 
So  glad  to  feel  de  slappin'  of  de  sea  wave  on 

her  breas' 
She  did  n't   los'  no   tarn,  but  travel  jus'    de 

sam', 

As  de  small  bird  w'en  he  's  flyin'  on  de  evening 
to  hees  nes'. 


But  her  sail 's  not  blowin'  out  wit'  de  warm 

breeze  of  de  sout' 

An'  it 's  not  too  easy  tellin'  w'ere  de  snow- 
flake  meet  de  foam 
Stretchin'  out  on  ev'ry  side,  all  across  de  Gulf  so 

wide 

W'en  de  nor'-eas'  win'  is  chasin'   de   "Rose 
Delima"  home. 


An'    we  're  flyin'   once  again  pas'   de   Isle  of 

Madeleine 
An'  away  for  Anticosti  we  let  de  schooner 

go 
Lak  a  race-horse  on  de  track,  we  could  never 

hoi'  her  back — 

She  mebbe  hear  heem  callin'  her,  ole  Captinne 
Baribeau! 

206 


THE _" ROSE  DELIMA" 

But  we  're  ketchin'  it  wan  night  w'en  de  star 

go  out  of  sight 
For  de  storm  dat  's  waitin'  for  us,  come  before 

we  know  it  's  dere — 
An'  it  blow  us  near  de  coas'  w'ere  dey  leev'  de 

sailor's  ghos' 
•    On  de  shore  of  Dead  Man's  Islan'  till  dey 

almos'  fill  de  air. 


So  de  Captinne  tak'  de  wheel,  an'  it  mak'  de 

schooner  feel 
Jus'  de  sam'  as  ole  man  Baribeau  is  workin' 

dere  hese'f 
"Well  she  know  it  's  life  or  deat',  so  she  's  fightin' 

hard  for  breat' 

For  wit'  all  dem  wave  a  chokin'  her,  it  's  leetle 
she  got  lef. 


Den  de  beeges'  sea  of  all,  stannin'  up  dere  lak 

a  wall 
Come  along  an'  sweep  de  leetle  "  Rose  Delima" 

fore  an'  af 
An'  above  de  storm  a  cry,  "Help,  mon  Dieu! 

before  I  die." 

An'  dere  's  no  wan  on  de  wheel  house,  an' 
we  hear  dem  spirit  laugh. 
207 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

Dey  're  lookin'  for  dead  man,  an'  dey  're  shoutin* 

all  dey  can 
Don't  matter  all  de  pile  dey  got  dey  want 

anoder  wan — 
An'  now  dey  're  laughin'  loud,  for  out  of  all  de 

crowd 

Dey  got  no  finer  sailor  boy  dan  Pierre  of  St. 
Yvonne! 


But  look  dere  on  de  wheel !  w'at  's  dat  was  seem 

to  steal 
From  now'ere,  out  of  not'ing,  till  it  reach  de 

pilot's  place 
An'  steer  de  rudder  too,  lak  de  Captinne  used 

to  do 

So  lak  de  Captinne's  body,  so  lak  de  Cap- 
tinne's  face. 


But  well  enough  we  know  de  poor  boy  's  gone 

below, 
Were  hees  bone  will  join  de  oder  on  de  place 

w'ere  dead  man  be — 
An'  we  only  see  phantome  of  young  Captinne 

Pierre  Guillaume 

Dat  sail  de  "Rose  Delima"  all  night  along  de 
sea. 

208 


THE  "ROSE  DELIMA" 

So  we  help  heem  all  we  can,  kip  de  schooner 

off  de  Ian' 
Were  bad  spirit  work  de  current  dat  was 

pullin'  us  inside — 
JBut  we  fool  dem  all  at  las',  an'  we  know  de 

danger  's  pas' 

Wen  de  sun  come  out  an'  fin'  us  floatin'  on 
de  morning  tide. 


So  de  Captinne's  work  is  done,  an'  nex'  day  de 

schooner  run 
Wit'  de  sail  all  hangin'  roun'  her,  to  de  port 

of  St.  Simon. 
Dat 's  de  way  young  Pierre  Guillaume  bring 

de  "Rose  Delima"  home 
T'roo  de  wiT   an'   stormy  wedder  from  St. 
Pierre  de  Miquelon. 


An'  de  leetle  Virginie  never  look  upon  de  sea 
Since  de  tarn  de  "Rose   Delima"   's  comin' 

home, 
For  she  's  lef '  de  worl'  an'  all !  but  behin'  de 

convent  wall 
She  don't  forget  her  fader  an'  poor  young 

Pierre  Guillaume. 
14  209 


LITTLE  MOUSE 

Little  Mouse 

ET  along  leetle  mouse,  kick  de  snow  up 

behin'  you 

For  it 's  fine  winter  road  we  're  travel  to-night 
Wit'  de  moon  an'  de  star  shinin'  up  on  de  sky 

dere 
W'y  it 's  almos'  de  sam'  as  de  broad  day  light. 

De  bell  roun'  your  body  it  's  quick  tune  dey  're 

playin' 
But  your  foot 's  kipin'  tarn  jus'  as  steady  can 

be, 

Ah!  you  dance  youse'f  crazy  if  only  I  let  you, 
Ma  own  leetle  pony — petite  souris. 

You  'member  w'en  firse  we  be  tryin'  for  broke 

you 

An'  Joe  Sauvageau  bet  hees  two  dollar  bill 
He  can  drive  you  alone  by  de  bridge  on  de 

reever 

An'  down  near  de  place  w'ere  dey  got  de 
beeg  mill. 

An'  it 's  new  cariole  too,  is  come  from  St.  Felix 
Jo-seph  's  only  buyin'  it  week  before, 

An'  w'en  he  is  passin'  de  road  wit'  hees  trotter 
Ev'ry  body  was  stan'  on  de  outside  door. 

210 


LITTLE  MOUSE 

An'  dere  he  sit,  sam'  he  don't  care  about  not'ing 
Hees  foot  on  de  dashboar',  hees  han'  on  de 
line 

Ev'ry  dog  on  de  place  is  come  out  for  barkin' 
An'  all  de  young  boy  he  was  ronnin'  behin'. 

Wall!  sir,  Joe  's  put  on  style  leetle  soon  for  hees 
pleasure 

For  w'en  de  mill  w'issle,  you  jomp  lak  de  cat 
An'  nex'  t'ing  poor  Joe  is  commencin'  get  busy, 

Non !  I  never  see  fine  run-away  lak  dat. 

'Way  go  de  pony  den — 'way  go  de  cariole, 

Poor  Joe  say,  "good-bye"  on  de  foot  of  de 
hill 

An'  all  he  can  see  of  de  sleigh  de  nex'  morning 
Is  jus'  about  pay  for  hees  two  dollar  bill. 

Ah!  your  right  nam'  jus'  den  should  be  leetle 

devil 

An'  not  leetle  mouse,  de  sam'  you  have  now. 
Wall!  dat 's  long  ago,  an'  you  're  gettin'  more 

quiet 
Since  tarn  you  was  never  done  kickin'  de  row. 

But  I  'm  not  very  sorry  de  firse  day  I  see  you 
Settle  down  on  de  trot  lak  your  fader  he  get 

W'en  he  beat  Sorel  Boy  on  de  ice  at  T'ree  Reever 
Bes'  two  on  t'ree  heat,  an'  win  all  de  bet. 
211 


STRATHCONA'S  HORSE 

Your  moder  she  's  come  off  de  Lachapelle  stock 
too 

Ole  Canayen  blood  from  Berthier  en  haut 
De  bes'  kin'  of  horse  never  look  on  de  halter 

So  it  is  n't  moche  wonder  you  know  how  to  go. 

Dat  's  church  bell  we  're  off  dere  on  de  hillside 
Get  along  leetle  mouse,  for  we  must  n't  be 

late, 
Fin'  your  way  t'roo  de  res'  of  dem  crowdin'  de 

roadside 

You  '11  never  get  better  chance  showin'  your 
gait. 

Wall!  church  is  all  over,  an'  Josephine  's  comin' 
For  drive  wit'  us  home  on  her  gran'moder's 

house 

So  tak'  your  own  tarn  an'  don't  be  on  de  hurry 
Your  slowes'  gait 's  quick  enough  now,  leetle 
mouse. 

Strathcona's  Horse 

(Dedicated  to  Lord  Strathcona) 

/~\  I  was  thine,and  thou  wert  mine,  and  ours 

the  boundless  plain, 

Where  the  winds  of  the  North,  my  gallant  steed, 
ruffled  thy  tawny  mane, 


STRATHCONA'S  HORSE 

But  the  summons  hath  come  with  roll  of  drum, 

and  bugles  ringing  shrill, 
Startling  the  prairie  antelope,  the  grizzly  of  the 

hill. 

'T  is  the  voice  of  Empire  calling,  and  the  chil- 
dren  gather   fast 
From  every  land  where  the  cross  bar  floats  out 

from  the  quivering  mast; 
So  into  the  saddle  I  leap,  my  own,  with  bridle 

swinging  free, 
And  thy  hoof-beats  shall  answer  the  trumpets 

blowing  across  the  sea. 
Then  proudly  toss  thy  head  aloft,  nor  think  of 

the  foe  to-morrow, 
For  he  who  dares  to  stay  our  course  drinks  deep 

of  the  Cup  of  Sorrow. 

Thy  form  hath  pressed  the  meadow's  breast, 
where  the  sullen  grey  wolf  hides, 

The  great  red  river  of  the  North  hath  cooled 
thy   burning   sides ; 

Together  we  've  slept  while  the  tempest  swept 
the  Rockies'  glittering  chain; 

And  many  a  day  the  bronze  centaur  hath  gal- 
loped behind  in  vain. 

But  the  sweet  wild  grass  of  mountain  pass,  and 
the  shimmering  summer  streams 

Must  vanish  forevermore,  perchance,  into  the 
land  of  dreams ; 

213 


JOHNNIE'S  FIRST  MOOSE 

For  the  strong  young  North  hath  sent  us  forth 

to  battlefields  far  away, 
And  the  trail  that  ends  where  Empire  trends, 

is  the  trail  we  ride  to-day. 
But  proudly  toss  thy  head  aloft,  nor  think  of 

the  foe  to-morrow, 
For  he  who   bars   Strathcona's   Horse,    drinks 

deep  of  the  Cup  of  Sorrow. 

Johnnie's  First  Moose 

cloud  is  hide  de  moon,  but  dere  's  plain- 
tee  light  above, 
Steady,  Johnnie,  steady — kip  your  head  down 

low, 

Move  de  paddle  leetle  quicker,  an'  de  ole  canoe 
we  '11  shove 

T'roo  de  water  nice  an'  quiet 
For  de  place  we  're  goin'  try  it 
Is  beyon'  de  silver  birch  dere 
You  can  see  it  lak  a  church  dere 
Wen  we  're  passin'  on  de  corner  w'ere  de  lily 
flower  grow. 

Was  n't  dat  correc'  w'at  I  'm  tolin'  you  jus'  now? 
Steady,  Johnnie,  steady — kip  your  head  down 

low, 
Never  min',   I  '11  watch  behin' — me — an'   you 

can  watch  de  bow 
214 


JOHNNIE'S  FIRST  MOOSE 

An'  you  '11  see  a  leetle  clearer 
Wen  canoe  is  comin'  nearer — 
Dere  she  is — now  easy,  easy, 
For  de  win'  is  gettin'  breezy, 
An'   we  don't  want  not'ing  smell  us,   till   de 
horn  begin  to  blow — 


I  remember  long  ago  w'en  ma  fader  tak'  me  out, 
Steady,  Johnnie,  steady — kip  your  head  down 

low, 

Jus'   de  way  I  'm  takin'   you,   sir,   hello!  was 
dat  a  shout? 

Seems  to  me  I  t'ink  I  'm  hearin' 
Somet'ing  stirrin'  on  de  clearin' 
Were  it  stan'  de  lumber  shaintee, 
If  it  's  true,  den  you  '11  have  plaintee 
Work  to  do  in  half  a  minute,  if  de  moose  don't 
start  to  go. 


An'  now  we  're  on  de  shore,  let  us  hide  de  ole 

canoe, 
Steady,  Johnnie,  steady — kip  your  head  down 

low, 

An'  lie  among  de  rushes,  dat 's  bes'  t'ing  we 
can  do, 

For  de  ole  boy  may  be  closer 
Dan  anybody  know,  sir, 
215 


JOHNNIE'S  FIRST  MOOSE 

An'  look  out  you  don't  be  shakin' 
Or  de  bad  shot  you  '11  be  makin' 
But   I  'm  feelin'  sam'    way    too,    me,  w'en    I 
was  young,  also — 

You  ready  for  de  call?  here  goes  for  number  wan, 
Steady,  Johnnie,  steady — kip  your  head  down 

low, 

Did   you  hear  how  nice  I    do  it,  an'    how  it 
travel  on 

Till  it  reach  across  de  reever. 
Dat  '11  geev'  some  moose  de  fever! 
Wait  now,  Johnnie,  don't  you  worry, 
No  use  bein'  on  de  hurry, 

But  lissen  for  de  answer,  it  '11  come  before  you 
know. 

Por  w'y  you  jomp  lak  dat?  w'at  's  matter  wit' 

your  ear? 
Steady,  Johnnie,  steady — kip  your  head  down 

low — 

Tak'  your  finger  off  de  trigger,  dat  was  only 
bird  you  hear, 

Can't  you  tell  de  pine  tree  crickin' 
Or  de  boule  frog  w'en  he  's  spikin'  ? 
Don't  you  know  de  grey  owl  singin' 
From  de  beeg  moose  w'en  he  's  ringin' 
Out   hees    challenge    on    de    message    your  ole 
gran'fader  blow? 

216 


JOHNNIE'S  FIRST  MOOSE 

You  're  lucky  boy  to-night,  wit'  hunter  man 

lak  me ! 
Steady,  Johnnie,  steady — kip  your  head  down 

low — 

Can    tole    you    all   about   it!     H-s-ssh!  dat 's 
somet'ing  now  I  see, 

Dere  he  's  comin'  t'roo  de  bushes, 
So  get  down  among  de  rushes, 
Hear  heem  walk!     I  t'ink,  by  tender, 
He  mus'  go  near  fourteen  honder ! 
Dat 's  de  feller  I  been  watchin'  all  de  evening, 
I  dunno. 

I  '11  geev'  anoder  call,  jus'  a  leetle  wan  or  two, 
Steady,  Johnnie,  steady — kip  your  head  down 

low — 

Wen  he  see  dere  's  no  wan  waitin'  I  wonder 
w'at  he  '11  do? 

But  look  out  for  here  he  's  comin' 
Sa-pris-ti !  ma  heart  is  drummin' ! 
You  can  never  get  heem  nearer 
An'  de  moon  is  shinin'  clearer, 
W'at    a    fine    shot    you  '11    be    havin'!     now 
Johnnie  let  her   go! 

Bang!   bang!   you    got   heem   sure!    an'    he'll 

never  run   away 
Nor  feed  among  de  lily  on  de  shore  of  Wes- 

sonneau, 

217 


THE  OLD  PINE  TREE 

So  dat 's  your  firse  moose,  Johnnie!  wall!  re- 
member all  I  say — 

Does  n't  matter  w'at  you  're  chasm', 
Does  n't  matter  w'at  you  're  facin', 
Only  watch  de  t'ing  you  're  doin' 
If  you  don't,  ba  gosh!  you  're  ruin! 
An'    steady,    Johnnie,    steady — kip   your   head 
down   low. 

The  Old  Pine  Tree 

(Dedicated  to  the  St.  George  Snowshoe  Club) 

"T    ISTEN,  my    child,"    said    the    old    pine 

tree  to  the  little  one  nestling  near, 
"For  the  storm  clouds  troop  together  to-night, 

and  the  wind  of  the  north  I  hear 
And  perchance  there  may  come  some  echo  of 

the  music  of  long  ago, 
The  music  that  rang  when   the  White   Host 

sang,  marching  across  the  snow." 

'"Up   and   away   Saint    George!   up   thro'    the 

mountain  gorge, 
Over  the  plain  where  the  tempest  blows,  and 

the  great  white  flakes  are  flying 
Down  the  long  narrow  glen!  faster  my  merry 

men, 
Follow  the  trail,  tho'  the  shy  moon  hides,  and 

deeply  the  drifts  are  lying. " 
218 


THE  OLD  PINE  TREE 

"Ah!    mother,"    the    little    pine    tree    replied, 

"you  are  dreaming  again  to-night 
Of  ghostly  visions   and    phantom   forms   that 

forever  mock  your  sight 
'T  is  true  the  moan  of  the  winter  wind  comes 

to  my  list'ning  ear 
But  the  White  Host  marching,   I  cannot  see, 

and  their  music  I  cannot  hear." 


"When    the    northern    skies    were    all    aflame 

where  the  trembling  banners  swung, 
When  up  in  the  vaulted  heavens  the  moon  of 

the  Snow-Shoe  hung, 
When  the  hurricane  swept  the  hillside,  and  the 

crested  drifts  ran  high 
Those  were  the  nights, "  said  the  old  pine  tree, 

"the  great  White  Host  marched  by." 


And  the  storm  grew  fiercer,   fiercer,   and  the 

snow  went  hissing  past, 
But  the  little  pine  tree  still  listened,   till  she 

heard  above  the  blast 
The  music  her  mother  loved  to  hear  in  the 

nights  of  the  long  ago 
And   saw   in    the    forest   the   white-clad    Host 

marching  across  the  snow. 
219 


LITTLE  BATEESE 

And  loud  they  sang  as  they  tramped  along  of 

the  glorious  bygone  days 
When    valley    and    hill    re-echoed    the    snow- 

shoer's  hymn  of  praise 
Till  the  shy  moon  gazed  down  smiling,  and  the 

north  wind  paused  to  hear 
And  the  old  pine  tree  felt  young  again  as  the 

little  one  nestling  near. 


"Up   and   away   Saint   George!   up   thro'    the 

mountain  gorge. 
Over  the  plain  where  the  tempest  blows,  and 

the  great  white  flakes  are  flying. 
Down  the  long  narrow  glen!  faster  my  merry 

men. 
Follow  the  trail,  tho'  the  shy  moon  hides,  and 

deeply  the  drifts  are  lying. " 


Little  Bateese 

"V7"OU  bad  leetle  boy,  not  moche  you  care 

How  busy  you  're  kipin'  your  poor  gran'- 
pere 

Tryin'  to  stop  you  ev'ry  day 
Chasin'  de  hen  aroun'  de  hay — 
W'y  don't  you  geev'  dem  a  chance  to  lay? 

Leetle  Bateese! 

220 


LITTLE  BATEESE 

Off  on  de  fiel'  you  f oiler  de  plough 
Den  w'en  you  're  tire  you  scare  de  cow 
Sickin'  de  dog  till  dey  jomp  de  wall 
So  de  milk  ain't  good  for  not'ing  at  all — 
An'  you  're  only  five  an'  a  half  dis  fall, 

Leetle  Bateese! 


Too  sleepy  for  sayin'  de  prayer  to-night? 
Never  min'  I  s'pose  it  '11  be  all  right 
Say  dem  to-morrow — ah !  dere  he  go ! 
Fas'  asleep  in  a  minute  or  so — 
An'  he  11  stay  lak  dat  till  de  rooster  crow, 

Leetle  Bateese! 


Den  wake  us  up  right  away  toute  suite 
Lookin'  for  somet'ing  more  to  eat, 
Makin'  me  t'ink  of  dem  long  leg  crane 
Soon  as  dey  swaller,  dey  start  again, 
I  wonder  your  stomach  don't  get  no  pain, 

Leetle  Bateese! 


But  see  heem  now  lyin'  dere  in  bed, 
Look  at  de  arm  onderneat'  hees  head; 
If  he  grow  lak  dat  till  he  's  twenty  year 
I  bet  he  '11  be  stronger  dan  Louis  Cyr 
An'  beat  all  de  voyageurs  leevin'  here, 

Leetle  Bateese! 


DONAL'  CAMPBELL 

Jus'  feel  de  muscle  along  hees  back, 

Won't  geev'  heem  moche  bodder  for  carry  pack 

On  de  long  portage,  any  size  canoe, 

Dere  's  not  many  t'ing  dat  boy  won't  do 

For  he  's  got  double-joint  on  hees  body  too, 

LeetleBateese! 

But  leetle  Bateese!  please  don't  forget 
We  rader  you  're  stayin'  de  small  boy  yet, 
So  chase  de  chicken  an'  mak'  dem  scare 
An'  do  w'at  you  lak  wit'  your  ole  gran'pere 
For  w'en  you  're  beeg  feller  he  won't  be  dere — 

Leetle  Bateese! 

Donal1  Campbell 

"T\ONAL'  CAMPBELL— Donal'  Bane- 
sailed  away  across  the  ocean 

With  the  tartans  of  Clan  Gordon,  to  the  Indies' 
distant  shore, 

But  on  Dargai's  lonely  hillside,  Donal'  Camp- 
bell met  the  foeman, 

And  the  glen  of  Athol  Moray  will  never  see 
him  more! 

O!  the  wailing  of  the  women,  O!  the  storm  of 

bitter  sorrow 
Sweeping  like  the  wintry  torrent  thro'  Athol 

Moray's  glen 

222 


DONAL'  CAMPBELL 

When  the  black  word  reached  the  clansmen, 

that  young  Donal'  Bane  had  fallen 
In  the  red  glare  of  the  battle,  with  the  gallant 
^  Gordon  men ! 

Far  from  home  and  native  sheiling,  with  the 
sun  of  India  o'er  him 

Blazing  down  its  cruel  hatred  on  the  white- 
faced  men  below 

Stood  young  Donal'  with  his  comrades,  like  the 
hound  of  ghostly  Fingal 

Eager,  waiting  for  the  summons  to  leap  up 
against  the  foe — 

Hark!  at  last!  the  pipes  are  pealing  out  the 

welcome  Caber  Feidh 
And   wild   the   red   blood   rushes   thro'    every 

Highland  vein 
They  breathe  the  breath  of  battle,  the  children 

of  the  Gael, 
And  fiercely  up  the  hillside,  they  charge  and 

charge   again — 

And  the  grey  eye  of  the  Highlands,   now  is 

dark  as  blackest  midnight, 
The  history  of  their  fathers  is  written  on  each  face, 
Of  border  creach  and  foray,  of  never  yielding 

conflict 
Of  all  the  memories  shrouding  a  stern  uncon- 

quered  race! 

223 


DONAL'  CAMPBELL 

And  up  the  hillside,  up   the  mountain,  while 

the  war-pipes  shrilly  clamour 
Bayonet   thrusting,    broadsword    cleaving,    the 

Northern  soldiers  fought 
Till  the  sun  of  India  saw  them  victors  o'er  the 

dusky  foemen, 
For  who  can  stay  the  Celtic  hand  when  Celtic 

blood  is  hot? 


But  the  corse  of  many  a  clansman  from  the  far- 
off  Scottish  Highlands 

'Mid  the  rocks  of  savage  Dargai  is  lying  cold 
and  still 

With  the  death-dew  on  its  forehead,  and  young 
Donal'  Campbell's  tartan 

Bears  a  deeper  stain  of  purple  than  the  heather 
of  the  hill! 


Mourn  him!      Mourn  him  thro'  the  mountains, 

wail  him  women  of  Clan  Campbell ! 
Let  the  Coronach  be  sounded  till  it  reach  the 

Indian  shore 
For  your  beautiful  has  fallen  in  the  foremost 

of  the  battle 
And  the  glen  of  Athol  Moray  will  never  see 

him  more. 

224 


THE  DUBLIN  FUSILIER 

The  Dublin  Fusilier 

11JERE    's   to    you,    Uncle    Kruger!    slainte"! 

an'  slainte  galore. 
You  're    a    dacint    ould    man,    begorra;    never 

mind  if   you  are  a   Boer. 
So  with  heart    an'  a  half  ma   bouchal,   we  '11 

drink  to  your  health  to-night 
For  yourself  an'  your  farmer  sojers  gave  us  a 

damn  good  fight. 

I  was  dramin'  of  Kitty  Farrell,  away  in  the 
Gap  o'  Dunloe, 

When  the  song  of  the  bugle  woke  me,  ringin' 
across  Glencoe; 

An'  once  in  a  while  a  bullet  came  pattherin' 
from  above, 

That  tould  us  the  big  brown  fellows  were  send- 
in'  us  down  their  love. 

'T  was  a  kind  of  an  invitation,  an'  written  in 

such   a  han' 
That  a  Chinaman  could  n't  refuse  it — not  to 

spake  of  an  Irishman. 
So  the  pickets  sent  back  an  answer.     "We  're 

comin'  with  right  good  will," 
Along  what  they  call  the  kopje,  tho'  to  me  it 

looked  more  like  a  hill. 
is  225 


"Fall  in  on  the  left,"   sez  the  captain,   "my 

men  of  the  Fusiliers; 
You  '11    see    a   great    fight    this   morning — like 

you  have  n't  beheld  for  years. " 
"Faith,  captain  dear,"  sez  the  sergeant,  "you 

can  bet  your  Majuba  sword 
If  the  Dutch  is  as  willin'  as  we  are,  you  never 

spoke  truer  word." 


So  we  scrambled  among  the  bushes,  the  bowl- 
ders an'  rocks  an'  all, 

Like  the  gauger's  men  still-huntin'  on  the 
mountains  of  Donegal; 

We  doubled  an'  turned  an'  twisted  the  same 
as  a  hunted  hare, 

While  the  big  guns  peppered  each  other  over 
us  in  the  air. 


Like  steam  from  the  divil's  kettle  the  kopje 

was  bilin'  hot, 
For  the  breeze  of  the  Dutchman's  bullets  was 

the  only  breeze  we  got ; 
An'  many  a  fine  boy  stumbled,  many  a  brave 

lad  died, 
When   the    Dutchman's   message    caught   him 

there   on   the   mountainside. 
226 


THE  DUBLIN  FUSILIER 

Little    Nelly    O'Brien,    God     help    her!     over 

there  at  ould  Ballybay, 
Will  wait  for  a  Transvaal  letter  till  her  face  an' 

her  hair  is  grey, 
For  I  seen  young  Crohoore  on  a  stretcher,  an' 

I  knew  the  poor  boy  was  gone 
When.  I  spoke  to  the  ambulance  doctor,  an'  he 

nodded  an'  then  passed  -on. 


"Steady  there!"  cried  the  captain,   "we  must 

halt  for  a  moment  here." 
An'  he  spoke  like  a  man  in  trainin',  full  winded 

an'  strong  an'  clear. 
So   we   threw   ourselves    down   on   the   kopje, 

weary  an'  tired  as  death, 
Waitin'  the  captain's  orders,  waitin'  to  get-  a 

breath. 


It 's  strange  all  the  humors  an'  fancies  that 

comes  to  a  man  like  me; 
But  the  smoke  of  the  battle  risin'   took  me 

across  the  sea — 
It 's  the  mist  of  Benbo  I  'm  seein' ;  an'  the  rock 

that  we  '11  capture  soon 
Is  the  rock  where  I  shot  the  eagle,  when  I  was 

a  small  gossoon. 

227 


THE  DUBLIN  FUSILIER 

I  close  my  eyes  for  a  minute,  an'  hear  my  poor 

mother  say, 
"Patrick,  avick,  my  darlin',  you're  surely  not 

goin'  away 
To    join     the    red-coated     sojers?" — but    the 

blood  in  me  was  strong — 
If  your   sire   was   a   Connaught   Ranger,    sure 

where  would  his  son  belong? 


Hark!    whisht!    do  you  hear  the  music  comin' 

.     up  from  the  camp  below? 
An  odd  note  or  two  when  the  Maxims  take 

breath  for  a  second  or  so, 
Liftin'  itself  on  somehow,  stealin'  its  way  up 

here, 
Knowin'  there  's  waitin'  to  hear  it,  many  an 

Irish   ear. 


Augh !   Garryowen !  you  're  the  jewel !  an'   we 

charged  on   the   Dutchman's   guns, 
An'  covered  the  bloody  kopje,  like  a  Gal  way 

greyhound  runs, 
At  the  top  of  the  hill  they  met  us,  with  faces 

all  set  and  grim; 
But  they  could  n't  take  the  bayonet — that 's 

the   trouble    with  most   of  thim. 
228 


DREAMS 

So  of  course,   they  '11  be  praisin'   the  Royals 

an'  men  of  the  Fusiliers, 
An'  the  newspapers  help  to  dry  up  the  widows 

an'  orphans'  tears, 
An'  they  '11  write  a  new  name  on  the  colors — 

that  is,  if  there  's  room  for  more 
An'  we  '11  follow  them  thro'  the  battle,  the  same 

as  we  've  done  before. 


But  here  's  to  you,  Uncle  Kruger !  slainte* !  an* 

slainte*  galore. 
After   all,   your  're  a  dacint   Christian,   never 

mind  if  you  are  a  Boer. 
So  with  heart  an'   a  half,  ma  bouchal,  we  '11 

drink    to   your  health  to-night, 
For  yourself  an'  your  brown-faced  Dutchmen 

gave  us  a  damn  good  fight. 


Dreams 

"D  ORD  a  Plouffe,  Bord  a  Plouffe, 

Wat  do  I  see  w'en  I  dream  of  you? 
A  shore  w'ere  de  water  is  racin'  by, 
A  small  boy  lookin',  an'  wonderin'  w'y 
He  can't  get  fedder  for  goin'  fly 
Lak  de  hawk  makin'  ring  on  de  summer  sky, 
Dat  's  w'at  I  see. 
229 


DREAMS 

Bord  £  Plouffe,  Bord  a  Plouffe, 
Wat  do  I  hear  w'en  I  dream  of  you? 
Too  many  t'ing  for  sleepin'  well! 
De  song  of  de  ole  tarn  cariole  bell, 
De  voice  of  dat  girl  from  Sainte  Angele 
(I  geev'  her  a  ring  was  mark  "fidele") 
Dat 's  w'at  I  hear. 

Bord  a  Plouffe,  Bord  a  Plouffe, 
Wat  do  I  smoke  w'en  I  dream  of  you? 
Havana  cigar  from  across  de  sea, 
An'  get  dem  for  not'ing  too?     No  siree! 
Dere  's  only  wan  kin'  of  tabac  for  me. 
An'  it  grow  on  de  Riviere  des  Prairies — 
Dat  's  w'at  I  smoke. 

Bord  a  Plouffe,  Bord  a  Plouffe, 
How  do  I  feel  w'en  I  t'ink  of  you? 
Sick,  sick,  for  de  ole  place  way  back  dere — 
An'  to  sleep  on  ma  own  leetle  room  upstair 
Were  de  ghos'  on  de  chimley  mak'  me  scare 
I  'd  geev'  more  monee  dan  I  can  spare — 
Dat 's  how  I  feel. 

Bord  a  Plouffe,  Bord  a  Plouffe, 
Wat  will  I  do  w'en  I  'm  back  wit*  you? 
I  'II  buy  de  farm  of  Bonhomme  Martel, 
Long  tarn  he  's  been  waitin'  a  chance  to  sell, 
230 


THE  OLD  SEXTON 

Den  pass  de  nex'  morning  on  Sainte  Angele, 
An'  if  she  's  not  marry — dat  girl — very  well, 
Dat  's  w'at  I  '11  do. 


The  Old  Sexton 

T  KNOW  very  well  't  wa.s  purty  hard  case 

If  dere  's  not  on  de  worl'  some  beeger  place 
Dan  village  of  Cote  St.  Paul, 
But  we  got  mebbe  sixty-five  house  or  more 
Wit'  de  blacksmit'  shop  an'  two  fine  store 
Not  to  speak  of  de  church  an'  de  city  hall. 


An'  of  course  on  village  lak  dat  you  fin' 
Some  very  nice  girl  if  you  have  a  min' 
To  look  aroun',  an'  we  got  dem  too — 
But  de  fines'  of  all  never  wear  a  ring, 
Since  firse  I  'm  t'inkin'  of  all  dem  t'ing, 
Was  daughter  of  ole  Narcisse  Beaulieu. 


Narcisse  he  's  bedeau  on  de  beeg  church  dere, 
He  also  look  affer  de  presbytere, 
An'  leev  on  de  house  close  by, 
On  Sunday  he  's  watchin'  de  leetle  boys, 
Stoppin'  dem  kickin'  up  too  much  noise, 
An'  he  bury  de  peop'  w'en  dey  're  comin'  die. 
231 


THE  OLD  SEXTON 

So  dat  's  w'at  he  do,  Narcisse  Beaulieu, 
An'  it  's  not  very  easy  I  'm  toliii1  you, 
But  a  purty  large  heavy  load, 
For  on  summer  de  cow  she  was  run  aroun' 
An'  eat  all  de  flower  on  de  Cure's  groun' 
An'  before  he  can  ketch  her,  p-s-s-t !  she  's  down 
de  road. 

Dat 's  not'ing  at  all,  for  w'en  winter  come 
Narcisse  got  plaintee  more  work  ba  gum ! 
Shovellin'  snow  till  hees  back  was  sore, 
Makin'  some  track  for  de  horse  an'  sleigh, 
Kipin'  look  out  dey  don't  run  away, 
An'  freezin'  outside  on  de  double  door. 

But  w'enever  de  vault  on  de  church  is  fill 
Wit'  de  peop'  was  waitin'  down  dere  ontil 
Dey  can  go  on  de  cimetiere, 
For  fear  dem  student  will  come  aroun' 
An'  tak'  de  poor  dead  folk  off  to  town 
Narcisse  offen  watch  for  dem  all  night  dere. 

An'  de  girl  Josephine  she  's  her  fader's  pet, 
He  never  see  nobody  lak  her  yet, 
So  w'en  he  's  goin'  on  St.  Jerome 
For  travel  about  on  some  leetle  tour 
An'  lef  her  alone  on  de  house,  I  'm  sure 
De  house   she 's    all   right    w'en   he 's  comin' 
home. 

232 


THE  OLD  SEXTON 

Wall !  nearly  t'ree  year  is  come  an'  go, 
De  quietes'  year  de  village  know, 
For  dem  student  don't  show  hees  face, 
An'  de  peop'  is  beginnin'  to  ax  w'at  for 
Dey  're  alway  goin'  on  He  Bizard 
An'  never  pass  on  our  place. 

But  it 's  bully  tarn  for  de  ole  Narcisse, 
An'  w'en  he  's  lettin'  heem  go  de  pries' 
For  stay  away  two  t'ree  day 
He  t'ink  of  course  it  was  purty  good  chance, 
So  he  buy  heem  new  coat  an'  pair  of  pants, 
An'  go  see  hees  frien'  noder  side  de  bay. 


An'  dat  very  sam'  night,  ba  gosh!  it  seem 
De  girl 's  not  dreamin'  some  pleasan'  dream 
For  she  visit  de  worse  place  never  seen 
Down  on  T'ree  Reever,  an'  near  Kebeck 
Were  robber-man's  chokin'  her  on  de  neck — 
De  poor  leetle  Josephine ! 

So  she  's  risin'  up  den  and  she  tak'  de  gun 
An'  off  on  de  winder  she  quickly  run 
For  fear  she  might  need  a  shot 
An'  dem  student  he  's  comin'  across  de  square 
Right  on  de  front  of  de  cimetiere 
An'  carryin'  somet'ing — you  know  w'at! 
233 


THE  OLD  SEXTON 

So  she  's  takin'  good  aim  on  de  beeges'  man 

An1  pull  de  trigger  de  hard  she  can, 

An'  he  's  yellin'  an'  down  he  go, 

Hees  frien'  dey  say  not'ing,  but  clear  out  quick, 

Dat  's  way  Josephine  she  was  playin'  trick 

On  feller  was  treatin'  poor  dead  folk  so! 


Den  she  kick  up  a  row  an'  begin  to  feel 
Very  sorry  right  off  for  de  boy  she  keel 
An'  de  nex'  t'ing  she  's  startin'  cry 
An'  call  on  her  fader  an'  moder  too, 
Poor  leetle  Josephine  Beaulieu, 
An'  wishin'  she  'd  lak  to  die. 


But  she  did  n't  die  den,  an'  he  's  leevin'  yet- 
Dat  feller  was  comin'  so  near  hees  deat' — 
For  she  's  nursin'  heem  back  to  life, 
Dey  're  feexin'  it  someway,  I  dunno  how, 
But  dey  're  marry  an'  leev'  in  de  city  now 
An'  she  's  makin'  heem  firse  class  wife. 

An'  Narcisse  hese'f  he  was  alway  say, 
"  It 's  fonny  t'ing  how  it  come  dat  way 
But  I  'm  not  very  sorry  at  all, 
Course  I  know  ma  son  he  's  not  doin'  right, 
But  man  he  was  haulin'  aroun'  dat  night 
Is  worse  ole  miser  on  Cote  St.  Paul." 
234 


CHILD  THOUGHTS 

Child  Thoughts — Written  to  Commemorate 
the  Anniversary  of  my  Brother 
Tom's  Birthday 

f~\  MEMORY,  take  my  hand  to-day 

And  lead  me  thro'  the  darkened  bridge 
Washed  by  the  wild  Atlantic  spray 

And  spanning  many  a  wind-swept  ridge 
Of  sorrow,  grief,  of  love  and  joy, 

Of  youthful  hopes  and  manly  fears! 

O !  let  me  cross  the  bridge  of  years 
And  see  myself  again  a  boy ! 


The  shadows  pass — I  see  the  light, 

O  morning  light,  how  clear  and  strong! 

My  native  skies  are  smiling  bright, 
No  more  I  grope  my  way  along, 

It  comes,  the  murmur  of  the  tide 
Upon  my  ear — I  hear  the  cry 
Of  wandering  sea  birds  as  they  fly 

In  trooping  squadrons  far  and  near. 


The  breeze  that  blows  o'er  Mullaghmore 
I  feel  against  my  boyish  cheek 

The  white-walled  huts  that  strew  the  shore 
From  Castlegal  to  old  Belleek, 
235 


CHILD  THOUGHTS 

The  fisher  folk  of  Donegal, 

Kindly  of  heart  and  strong  of  arm, 

Who  plough  the  ocean's  treacherous  farm, 

How  plainly  I  behold  them  all! 


The  thrush's  song,  the  blackbird's  note, 

The  wren  within  the  hawthorn  hedge, 
The  robin's  swelling  vibrant  throat, 

The  leveret  crouching  in  the  sedge ! 
In  those  dear  days,  ah!  what  was  school? 

When  Nature  made  our  pulses  thrill! 

The  lessons  we  remember  still 
Were  learnt  at  Nature's  own  footstool! 

"The  hounds  are  out!  the  beagles  chase 
Along  the  slopes  of  Tawley's  plain!" 

I  rise  and  follow  in  the  race 

Till  fox,  or  hare,  or  both  are  slain, 

With  heart  ablaze,  I  loose  the  reins 
Of  all  my  childish  fierce  desire, 
My  faith !  't  is  Ireland  plants  the  fire 

And  iron  in  her  children's  veins ! 


The  mountain  linnet  whistles  sweet 
Among  the  gorse  of  summer-time, 

As  up  the  hill  with  eager  feet 

The  sun  of  morning  sees  me  climb 
236 


BATEESE  AND  HIS  LITTLE  DECOYS 

Until  at  last  I  sink  to  rest 

Where  heatherbells  swing  to  the  tune 
That  Benbo  breezes  softly  croon — 

A  tired  child  on  the  mother's  breast! 

And  now  in  wisdom's  riper  years, 
Ah,  wisdom!  what  a  price  we  pay 

Of  sorrow,  grief,  of  smiles  and  tears, 
Before  we  reach  that  wiser  day! 

We  meet  to  greet  in  joy  and  mirth 
The  white-haired  parent  of  us  all 
Our  childhood's  memories  to  recall 

And  bless  the  land  that  gave  us  birth. 

Bateese  and  his  Little  Decoys 

I  'm  very  very  tire  Marie, 

I  wonder  if  I  'm  able  hoi'  a  gun 
An'  me  dat  's  alway  risin'  wit  de  sun 
An'  travel  on  de  water,  an'  paddle  ma  canoe 
An'  trap  de  mink  an'  beaver  de  fall  an'  winter 

t'roo, 
But  now  I  t'ink  dat  fun  is  gone  forever. 

Wall!  I  'm  mebbe  stayin'  long  enough, 
For  eighty-four  I  see  it  on  de  spring; 

Dough  ma  fader  he  was  feelin'  purty  tough 
An'  at  ninety  year  can  do  mos'  ev'ry  t'ing, 
237 


BATEESE  AND  HIS  LITTLE  DECOYS 

But  I  never  know  de  feller,  don't  care  how  ole 

he  come, 
Dat  is  n't  sure  to  t'ink  he  's  got  anoder  year, 

ba  gum! 
Before  he  lif  de  anchor  for  de  las'  tam! 


It  's  not  so  easy  lyin'  on  de  bed, 

An'  lissen  to  de  wil'  bird  on  de  bay, 
Dey  know  dat  poor  Bateese  is  nearly  dead, 
Or  dey  would  n't  have  such  good  fun  ev'ry 

day! 
Put  ma  gun  upon  de  piller  near  de  winder,  jus' 

for  luck, 
Den  bring  w'ere  I  can  see  dem,  ma  own  nice 

leetle  duck 
So    I    have    some   talk   wit'    dem  mese'f    dis 

morning. 

Ah!    dere    you  're    comin'    now!    mes    beaux 

canards! 

Dat  's  very  pleasan'  day,  an'  how  you  feel? 
Of  course  you  dunno  w'at  I  want  you  for, 

Wall !  lately  I  've  been  t'inkin'  a  good  deal 
Of  all  de  fuss  I  'm  havin'  show  you  w'at  you 

ought  to  do 

Wen  de  cole  win'  of  October  de  blin'  is  blow- 
ing t'roo 

An'  de  bluebill  's  flyin'  up  an'  down  de  reever. 
238 


BATEESE  AND  HIS  LITTLE  DECOYS 

O !  de  bodder  I  'm  havin'  wit'  you  all ! 

It's   makin'    me    feel    ole    before    ma    tarn! 

Stan'  over  dere  upon  de  right  again  de  wall, 
Ma-dame   Lapointe — I  'm  geevin'   you   Ma- 
dame 

.'Cos  you  walk  aroun'  de  sam'  way  as  ma  cousin 
Aurelie 

An'   lak   youse'f   she 's   havin'   de  large  large 
familee, 

Now  let  us  see  you  don't  forget  your  lesson! 

Qu-a-a-ck!  you  're  leetle  hoarse  to-day,  don't 

you  t'ink? 
Quack!    quack!    quack!    dat  's    right    Mam- 

zelle  Louise ! 
You  go  lak  dat,  an'  quicker  dan  a  wink, 

It  '11  ring  across  de  lake  along  de  breeze, 
Till  de  wiT   bird  dey  will  lissen  up  de  reever 

far  an'  near, 
An'  tole  de  noder  wan  too,  de  musique  dey  was 

hear 
An'  dey  '11  fly  aroun'  our  head  before  we  know  it. 

Come    here,    Frangois,    an'    min'    you  watch 

youse'f ! 

You  can't  forget  de  las'  day  we  was  out, 
Your  breat'  dere  's  very  leetle  of  it  -lef ' 
An'  I  tole  you  it  was  better  shut  your  mout* 
239 


BATEESE  AND  HIS  LITTLE  DECOYS 

Wen  you  start  dat  fancy  yellin,'  for  it  soun' 

de  sam'  to  me 
Lak  de  devil  he  was  goin'  on  de  beeges'   kin' 

of  spree, 
Francois!  dat 's    not  de      way    for    mak'   de 

shootin' ! 

Wan — two — t'ree, — now  let  us  hear  you  please, 

It  is  n't  very  hard  job  if  you  try, 
Purten'  you  're  feelin'  lonesome  lak  Louise 

An'  want  to  see  de  sweetheart  bimeby, 
Quack!  quack!  quack! 

O!  stop  dat  screechin',  don't  never  spik  no  more 
For  if  anyt'ing,  sapree,  tonnerre !  you  're  worser 

dan  before, 
I  wonder  w'at  you  do  wit'  all  your  schoolin'! 

Come   out   from  onderneat'    de    bed,    Lisette, 

I  believe  you  was  de   fattes'  of   de  lot; 
It 's  handy  too  of  course,  for  you  never  feel  de 

wet, 
An'  w'en  you  lak  to  try  it,  O!  w'at  a  voice 

you  got! 
So  let  us  play  it 's  blowin'  hard,  an'  duck  is  up 

de  win' 
An'  you  want  to  reach  dem — sure — now  we  're 

ready  for  begin, 

Hooraw!  an'  never  min'  de  noise  dat  you're 
makin'. 

240 


BATEESE  AND  HIS  LITTLE  DECOYS 

Quack!     quack!     quack!     quack!     O!   let   me 

tak'  'de   gun 
For  I  would  n't  be  astonish  w'en  Lisette  is 

get  de  start, 
Roun'  de  house  dey  '11  come  a-flyin',  an'  den 

we  '11  have  de  fun! 
Yass,    yass,    kip   up    de   flappin',    O!     ain't 

she  got  de  heart! 
Not  many  duck  can  beat  her,  an'  I  wish  I  had 

some  more, 
Can  mak'  de  song  lak  dat  upon  de  water! 

Dat  's  very  funny  how  it  ketch  de  crowd ! 

An'  now  dey  're  goin'  all  de  younger  wan ! 
But  if  you  don't  stop  singin'  out  so  loud, 

I  'm  sorry  I  mus'  tole  you  all  begone, 
'Cos  I  want  to  go  to  sleep,  for  I  'm  very,  very 

tire, 
An'  de  shiver  's  comin'  on  me !  so  Marie  poke 

up  de  fire 
An'   mebbe   I  '11   feel   better   on   de   morning. 

De  leetle  duck  may  call  on  de  spring  tarn  an' 

detail 

W'en  dey  see  de  wiT  bird  flyin'  on  de  air 
Dey  may  cry  aroun'  hees  door,  but  he  '11  never 

come  no  more 
For  .showin'  dem  de  lesson!  ole  Jean  Bateese 

Belair. 
16  241 


PHIL-O-RUM'S  CANOE 

Phil-o-Rum's  Canoe 

MA  ole  canoe!  w'at  's  matter  wit'  you, 

an'  w'y  was  you  be  so  slow? 
Don't  I  work  hard  enough  on  de  paddle,  an* 

still   you   don't   seem   to   go — 
No  win'  at  all  on  de  fronte  side,  an'  current 

she  don't  be  strong, 

Den  w'y  are  you  lak  lazy  feller,  too  sleepy  for 
move  along? 

"I  'member  de  tarn  w'en  you  jomp  de  sam'  as 

deer  wit'  de  wolf  behin' 
An'   brochet  on  de  top   de  water,   you  scare 

heem  mos'  off  hees  min'; 
But  fish  don't  care  for  you  now  at  all,  only  jus' 

mebbe  wink  de  eye, 
For  he  know  it  's  easy  git  out  de  way  w'en  you 

was  a  passin'  by." 

I  'm  spikin'  dis  way  jus'  de  oder  day  w'en  I  'm 

out  wit'  de  ole  canoe, 
Crossin'  de  point  w'ere  I  see  las'  fall  wan  very 

beeg   caribou, 
W'en  somebody  say,  "Phil-o-rum,  mon  vieux, 

wat  's  matter  wit'  you  youse'f?" 
An'   who  do  you  s'pose  was  talkin'?  w'y  de 

poor  ole  canoe  shese'f. 
242 


PHIL-0-RUM'S  CANOE 

O  yass,  I  'm  scare  w'en  I  'm  sittin'  dere,  an' 

she  's  callin'  ma  nam'  dat  way: 
"Phil-o-rum  Juneau,  w'y  you  spik  so  moche, 

you  're  off  on  de  head  to-day 
Can't   be   you   forget   ole   feller,    you   an'    me 

we  're  not   too  young, 
An'  if  I  'm  lookin'   so  ole  lak  you,   I  t'ink  I 

will  close   ma   tongue. 


"  You  should    feel  ashame;    for  you  're  alway 

blame,  w'en  it  is  n't  ma  fault  at  all 
For  I  'm  tryin'  to  do   bes'  I   can  for  you   on 

summer-tarn,  spring,  an'  fall. 
How  offen  you  drown  on  de  reever  if  I  'm  not 

lookin'  out  for  you 
W'en  you  're  takin'  too  moche  on  de  w'isky 

some  night  comin'  down  de  Soo. 


"De  firse  tarn  we  go  on  de  Wessoneau  no  fel- 
ler can  beat  us  den, 

For  you  're  purty  strong  man  wit'  de  paddle, 
but  dat  's  long  ago  ma  frien', 

An'  win'   she  can  blow  off  de  mountain,  an' 
tender   an'   rain   may   come,"     • 

But    camp    see    us    bote    on     de    evening — 
you  know  dat  was  true  Phil-o-rum. 
243 


PHIL-O-RUM'S  CANOE 

"An'   who 's   your  horse   too,    but   your   ole 

canoe,  an'  w'en  you  feel  cole  an'  wet 
Who  was  your  house  w'en  I  'm  upside  down 

an'    onder  de   roof   you   get, 
Wit'  rain  ronnin'  down  ma  back,  Bapteme!  till 

I  'm  gettin'  de  rheumateez, 
An'  I  never  say  not 'ing  at  all,  moi-m£me,  but 

let  you  do  jus'  you  please. 


"You  t'ink  it  was  right,  kip  me  out  all  night 

on  reever  side  down  below, 
An'  even  'Bon  Soir'  you  was  never  say,  but 

off   on   de   camp   you   go 
Leffin'   your  poor  ole  canoe  behin'  lyin'   dere 

on  de   groun' 
Watchin'    de   moon   on   de  water,  an'    de   bat 

flyin'   all  aroun'. 


"O!   dat 's  lonesome   t'ing  hear  de   grey   owl 

sing  up  on  de  beeg  pine  tree 
An'  many  long  night  she  kip  me  awake  till  sun 

on  de  eas'  I  see, 
An'   den  you  come  down  on  de  morning  for 

start   on   some  more  voyage. 
An'  only  t'ing  decen'  you  do  all  day  is  carry 

me  on  portage. 

244 


PHIL-O-RUM'S  CANOE 

"Dat's     way     Phil-o-rum,    rheumateez     she 

come,  wit'  pain  ronnin'  troo  ma  side 
Wan  leetle  hole  here,  noder  beeg  wan  dere,  dat 

not'ing  can  never  hide; 
Don't  do  any  good  fix  me  up  agen,  no  matter 

how  moche  you  try, 
For  w'en  we  come  ole  an'  our  work  she  's 

done,  bote  man  an'  canoe  mus'  die." 


Wall!  she  talk  dat  way  mebbe  mos'  de  day, 

till  we  're  passin'  some  beaver  dam 
An'  wan  de  young  beaver  he  's  mak'  hees  tail 

come  down  on  de  water  flam! 
I  never  see  de  canoe  so  scare,  she  jomp  nearly 

two,  t'ree  feet 
I  t'ink  she  was  goin'  for  ronne  away,  an'  she 

shut  up  de  mout'  toute  suite. 


It  mak'  me  feel  queer,  de  strange  t'ing  I  hear, 

an'  I  'm  glad  she  don't  spik  no  more, 
But  soon  as  we  fin'  ourse'f  arrive  over  dere  on 

de  noder  shore 
I  tak'  dat  canoe  lak  de  lady,  an'  carry  her  off 

wit'  me, 
For  I  'm  sorry  de  way  I  treat  her,  an'   she 

know  more  dan  me,  sapree! 
•      245 


THE  LOG  JAM 

Yass!  dat  's  smart  canoe,  an'  I  know  it 's  true, 

w'at  she  's  spikin'  wit'  me  dat  day, 
I  'm  not  de  young  feller  I  use  to  be  w'en  work 

she  was  only  play; 
An'  I  know  I  was  comin'  closer  on  place  w'ere 

I  mus'   tak'    care 
Were  de  mos'  worse  current 's  de  las'  wan  too, 

de  current  of  Dead  Riviere. 

You  can  only  steer,  an'  if  rock  be  near,  wit' 

wave  dashin'  all  aroun', 
Better  mak'  leetle  prayer,  for  on  Dead  Riviere 

some  very  smart  man  get  drown ; 
But  if  you  be  locky  an'  watch  youse'f,  mebbe 

reever  won't  seem  so  wide, 
An'  firse  t'ing  you  know  you  '11  ronne  ashore, 

safe  on   de  noder   side. 


The  Log  Jam 

P\ERE  's  a  beeg  jam   up    de  reever,  w'ere 

rapide  is  runnin'   fas', 
An'  de  log  we  cut  las'  winter  is  takin'  it  all 

de  room; 
So  boss  of  de  gang  is  swearin',  for  not'ing  at 

all  can  pass 

An'  float  away  down  de  current  till  some- 
body  break   de   boom.- 
246 


THE  LOG  JAM 

"Here's  for  de  man  will  tak'  de  job,  holiday 

for  a  week 
Extra  monee  w'en  pay  day  come,  an'   ten 

dollar,  suit  of  clothes. 
'T  isn't  so  hard  work  run  de  log,  if  only  you 

do  it  quick — 

Were  's  de  man  of  de  gang  den  is  ready 
to  say,  '  Here  goes? ' ' 


Dere  was  de  job  for  a  feller,  handy  an'  young 

an'  smart, 
Willin'  to  tak'  hees  chances,  willin'  to  risk 

hees  life. 
'Cos  many  a  t'ing  is  safer,  dan  tryin'  de  boom 

to  start, 

For  if  de  log  wance  ketch  you,  dey  're  cut- 
tin'    you  lak   a   knife. 


Aleck    Lachance    he   lissen,  an'    answer  heem 

right  away 
"Marie  Louise  dat  's  leevin'  off  on  de  shore 

close  by 
She  's  sayin'  de  word  was  mak'  me  mos'  hap- 

pies'   man  to-day 

An'  if  you  ax  de  reason  I  'm  ready  to  go, 
dat'sw'y." 

247 


THE  LOG  JAM 

Pierre  Delorme  he  's  spikin'  den,  an'   0 !  but 

he  's  lookin'  glad. 
"Dis  morning  de  sam'  girl  tole  me,  she  mus' 

say  to  me,  '  Good-bye  Pierre. ' 
So  no  wan  can  stop  me  goin',  for  I  feel  I  was 

comin'  mad 

An'  wedder  I  see  to-morrow,  dat  's  not'ing, 
for  I  don't  care. " 


Aleck  Lachance  was  steady,  he  's  bully  boy  all 

aroun', 
Alway    sendin'    de   monee   to    hees    moder 

away  below, 
Now  an'  den  savin'  a  leetle  for  buyin'  de  house 

an'  groun', 

An'    never    done    t'inkin',  t'inkin'  of   Marie 
Louise  Lebeau. 


Pierre  was  a  half-breed  feller,  we  call  heem  de 

grand  Nor'  Wes' — 
Dat  is  de  place  he  's  leevin'  w'en  he  work 

for  de  Compagnie, 
Dey  say  he  's  marry  de  squaw  dere,  never  min' 

about  all  de  res' — 

An'  affer  he  get  hees  monee,  he  's  de  boy 
for  de  jamboree! 

248 


THE  LOG  JAM 

Ev'ry  wan  start  off  cheerin'  w'en  dey  pass  on 

de  log  out  dere 
Jompin'  about  lak  monkey,  Aleck  an'  Pierre 

Delorme. 
Workin'   de   sam'   as  twenty,   an'   runnin'    off 

ev'ryw'ere, 

An'  busy  on  all  de  places,  lak  beaver  before 
de  storm. 


Den  we  hear  some  wan  shoutin',  an'  dere  was 

dat  crazy  girl, 
Marie  Louise,  on  de  hillside,  cryin'  an'  raisin' 

row. 
Couldn't  do  not'ing  worser!  mos'  foolish  t'ing 

on  de  worl' 

For     Pierre     Delorme    an'     Aleck     was  n't 
workin'   upon  de  scow. 


Bote  of  dem  turn  aroun'  dere  w'en  girl  is  com- 

mencin'  cry, 
Lak  woman  I  wance  remember,  got  los'  on 

de  bush  t'ree  day, 
"Look  how  de  log  is  movin'!     I'm  seein'  it 

wit'  ma  eye, 

Come  back  out  of  all  dem  danger!"  an'  den 
she  was  faint  away. 
249 


THE  LOG  JAM 

Ten   year    I    been    reever    driver,    an'    mebbe 

know  something  too, 
An'  dere  was  n't  a  man  don't  watch  for  de 

minute  dem  log  she  go; 
But  never  a  word  from  de  boss  dere,  stannin' 

wit'  all  hees  crew, 

So  how  she  can  see  dem  movin'   don't  ax 
me,  for  I  dunno. 


Hitch  dem  all  up  togeder,  t'ousan'  horse  crazy 

mad — 
Only  a  couple  of  feller  for  han'le  dem  ev'ry 

wan, 
Scare  dem  wit'  t'onder,  an'  lightning,  an'  den  't 

is  n't  half  so  bad 

As    log   runnin'   down    de   rapide,    affer   de 
boom  she  's  gone. 


See  dem  nex'  day  on  de  basin,  you  t'ink  dey 

was   t'roo    de    fight 
Cut  wit'  de  sword  an'  bullet,  lyin'  along  de 

shore 
You  'd  pity  de  log,  I  'm  sure,  an'  say  't  was 

terrible  sight 

But  man  goin'   t'roo  de  sam'   t'ing,   you  'd 
pity  dat  man  some  more. 
250 


THE  LOG  JAM 

An'  Pierre  w'en  he  see  dem  goin'  an'  log  jom- 

pin'  up  an'  down 
De  sign  of  de  cross  he  's  makin'  an'  drive  on 

de  water  dere, 
He  know  it 's  all  up  hees  chances,  an'  he  rader 

be  goin'  drown 

Dan  ketch  by  de  rollin'   timber,  an'   dat  's 
how  he  go,  poor  Pierre. 


Aleck's  red  shirt  is  blazin'  off  w'ere  we  hear  de 

log 
Crackin'  away  an'  bangin',  sam'  as  a  honder 

gun, 
Lak'  sun  on  de  morning  tryin'  to  peep  t'roo 

de  reever  fog — 

But  Aleck's  red  shirt  is  redder  dan  ever  I  see 
de  sun. 


An'    w'en    dey  're     tryin'    wake     her:     Marie 

Louise  Lebeau, 
On  her  neck  dey  fin'  a  locket,  she  's  kipin'  so 

nice  an'  warm, 
An'  dey  're  tolin'  de  funny  story,  de  funnies' 

I  dunno — 

For  de  face,  BaptSme!  dey  see  dere,  was  de 
half-breed  Pierre  Delorme ! 
251 


THE  CANADIAN  MAGPIE 

The  Canadian  Magpie 

"JV/TOS*  ev'rywan  lak  de  robin 

An'  it  's  pleasan'  for  hear  heem  sing, 
Affer  de  winter  's  over 

An'  it 's  comin'  anoder  spring. 
De  snow  's  hardly  off  de  mountain 

An'  it 's  cole  too  among  de  pine 
But  you  know  w'en  he  sing,  de  sout'  win* 

Is  crowdin'  heem  close  behin'. 

An'  mebbe  you  hear  de  grosbec 

Sittin'  above  de  nes' — 
An'  you  see  by  de  way  he  's  goin' 

De  ole  man  's  doin'  hees  bes' 
Makin'  de  wife  an'  baby 

Happy  as  dey  can  be — 
An'  proud  he  was  come  de  fader 

Such  fine  leetle  familee. 

De  gouglou  of  course  he  's  nicer 

Dan  many  de  bird  dat  fly, 
Dunno  wa't  we  do  widout  heem, 

But  off  en  I  wonder  w'y 
He  can't  stay  quiet  a  minute 

Lak  res'  of  de  small  oiseaux 
An'  finish  de  song  he  's  startin' 

Till  whish !  an'  away  he  go ! 
252 


THE  CANADIAN  MAGPIE 

Got  not'ing  to  say  agen  dem, 

De  gouglou  an'  all  de  res' — 
'Cept  only  dey  lak  de  comfort, 

An'  come  w'en  it  suit  dem  bes' — 
For  soon  as  de  summer  's  passin' 

An'  leaf  is  begin  to  fall — 
You  '11  walk  t'roo  de  wood  an'  medder 

An'  never  hear  wan  bird  call. 


But  come  wit'  me  on  de  winter 

On  place  w'ere  de  beeg  tree  grow 
De  smoke  of  de  log  house  chimley 

Will  tole  you  de  way  to  go — 
An'  if  you  're  not  too  unlucky 

De  w'isky  iack  dere  you  '11  see 
Flyin'  aroun'  de  shaintee 

An'  dat  was  de  bird  for  me. 


You  '11  mebbe  not  lak  hees  singin' 

Dough  it 's  better  dan  not'ing  too, 
For  affer  he  do  hees  bes',  den 

Wat  more  can  poor  Johnnie  do? 
It 's  easy  job  sing  on  summer 

De  sam'  as  de  rossignol — 
But  out  of  door  on  de  winter 

Jus'  try  it  youse'f — dat 's  all. 
253 


THE  CANADIAN  MAGPIE 

See  heem  dere,  now  he  's  comin' 

Hoppin'  an'  hoppin'  aroun' 
Wen  we  start  on  de  morning  early 

For  work  till  de  sun  go  down — • 
T'row  heem  hees  piece  of  breakfas' 

An'  hear  heem  say  "merci  bien," 
For  he  's  fond  of  de  pork,  ba  golly! 

Sam'  as  de  Canayen. 


De  noise  of  de  axe  don't  scare  heem 
He  stay  wit'  us  all  de  day, 
An'  w'en  he  was  feelin'  lak'  it 

Ride  home  wit'  de  horse  an'  sleigh 
Den  affer  we  reach  de  shaintee 

He  's  waitin'  to  see  us  back 
Jompin'  upon  de  log  dere 

Good  leetle  w'isky  jack! 


So  here  's  to  de  bird  of  winter 

Wearin'  de  coonskin  coat, 
Wenever  it  's  bird  election 

You  bet  he  can  get  ma  vote — 
Dat  's  way  I  be  feel  about  it, 

Voyageurs  let  her  go  today! 
W'isky  jack,  get  ready,  we  drink  you 

Tou jours  a  vot'  bonne  sante! 
Bapt&ne ! 
254 


THE  RED  CANOE 

The  Red  Canoe 

r\E  win'  is  sleepin'  in  de  pine,  but  O!   de 

night  is  black! 
An'  all  day  long  de  loon  bird  cry  on  Lac  Waya- 

gamack — 
No  light  is  shinin'  by  de  shore  for  helpin'  steer 

heem  t'roo 

Wen  out  upon  de  night,   Ubalde  he  tak'  de 
red  canoe. 

I  hear  de  paddle  dip,  dip,  dip!  wance  more  I 

hear  de  loon — • 
I  feel  de  breeze  was   show  de  way  for   storm 

dat  's  comin'  soon, 
An'   den   de    sky  fly    open  wit'   de    lightning 

splittin'    t'roo — 
An'  'way  beyon'  de  point  I  see  de  leetle  red 

canoe. 

It 's  dark  again,  but  lissen  how  across  Waya- 
gamack 

De  tender  's  roarin'  loud,  an'  now  de  mount- 
ains answer  back — 

I  wonder  wit'  de  noise  lak  dat,  he  hear  me,  le 
bon  Dieu 

Wen  on  ma  knee  I  ax  Heem  save  de  leetle  red 
canoe ! 

255 


TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 

Is  dat  a  voice,  so  far  away,  it  die  upon  ma  eat? 
Or   only   win'    was  foolin'   me,   an'   w'isperin' 

"Belzemire"? 
Yaas,    yaas,    Ubalde,    your    Belzemire    she 's 

prayin'   hard  for  you — 
An'  den  again  de  lightning  come,  but  w'ere  's 

de  red  canoe? 


Dey  say  I  'm  mad,  dem  foolish  folk,  cos  w'en 

de  night  is  black 
An'  w'en  de  wave  lak  snow-dreef  come  on  Lac 

Wayagamack 
I  tak'  de  place  w'ere  long  ago  we  use  to  sit,  us 

two, 
An'  wait  until  de  lightning  bring  de  leetle  red 

canoe. 


Two  Hundred  Years  Ago 

'TPWO  honder  year  ago,  de  worl'  is  purty  slow 
Even   folk   upon    dis    contree  's   not    so 
smart, 
Den    who    is    travel    roun'    an'    look    out    de 

pleasan'  groun' 

For  geev'   de  Yankee  peop'   a  leetle  start? 
256 


TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 

I  '11  tole  you  who  dey  were !  de  beeg  rough 

voyageurs, 

Wit  deir  cousin  w'at  you  call  coureurs  de  bois, 
Dat  's  fightin'  all  de  tarn,  an'  never  care  a  dam, 
An'  ev'ry  wan  dem  feller  he 's  come  from 

Canadaw 

Bapte'me ! 
He  's  comin'  all  de  way  from  Canadaw. 


But  He  watch  dem,  le  bon  Dieu,  for  He  's  got 

some  work  to  do, 

An  He  won't  trus'  ev'ry  body,  no  siree ! 
Only  full  blood  Canadien,  lak  Marquette  an' 

Hennepin, 

An'    w'at    you    t'ink    of    Louis    Verandrye? 
On   church   of   Bonsecours!  makin'   ready   for 

de  tour, 

See  dem  down  upon  de  knee,  all  prayin'  dere — 
Wit'  de  paddle  on  de  han'  ev'ry  good  Canad- 
ien man, 
An'  affer  dey  be  finish,  hooraw  for  anyw'ere. 

Yass,  sir! 
Dey  're  ready  now  for  goin'  anyw'ere. 

De  nort'  win'  know  dem  well,  an'  de  prairie 

grass  can  tell 

How  offen  it  is  trample  by  de  ole  tarn  botte 
sauvage — 
17  257 


TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO 

An'  grey  wolf  on  hees  den  kip  very  quiet,  w'en 
He  hear  dem  boy  a'   singin'   upon  de  long 

portage. 
An'  de  night  would  fin'  dem  lie  wit'  deir  faces 

on  de  sky, 
An'  de  breeze  would  come  an'  w'isper  on  deir 

ear 
'Bout  de  wife  an'  sweetheart  dere  on  Sorel  an' 

Trois  Rivieres 
Dey  may  never  leev'  to  see  anoder  year, 

Dat  's  true, 
Dey  may  never  leev'  to  kiss  anoder  year. 


An'    you  '11   know  de  place  dey  go,   from   de 

canyon  down  below, 

Or  de  mountain  wit'  hees  nose  above  de  cloud, 
De  lake  among  de  hill,  w'ere  de  grizzly  drink 

hees  fill 

Or  de  rapid  on  de  reever  roarin'  loud ; 
Ax    de   wil'  deer  if   de   flash   of     de   ole   Tree 

Reever  sash 

He  don't  see  it  on  de  woods  of  Illinois 
An'  de  musk  ox  as  he  go,  w'ere  de  camp  fire 

melt  de  snow, 
De  smell  he  still  remember  of  tabac  Canadien 

Ha!  Ha! 

It's  hard  forgettin'  smell  of  tabac  Canadien! 
258 


THE  VOYAGEUR 

So,  ma  frien',  de  Yankee  man,  he  mus'  try  an1 

understan' 
Wen  he    holler    for  dat    flag  de    Star    an' 

Stripe, 
If  he  's  leetle  win'  still  lef,  an'  no  danger  hurt 

hese'f, 

Den  he  better  geev'  anoder  cheer,  ba  cripe! 
For  de  flag  of  la  belle  France,  dat  show  de  way 

across 

From  Louisbourg  to  Florida  an'  back; 
So  raise  it  ev'ryw'ere,  lak'   de  ole  tam  voy- 

ageurs, 
Wen  you  hear  of  de  la  Salle  an'   Cadillac — 

Hooraw ! 
For  de  flag  of  de  la  Salle  an'  Cadillac. 


The  Voyageur 

r\ERE  's   somet'ing   stirrin'    ma   blood    to- 
night, 

On  de  night  of  de  young  new  year, 
Wile  de  camp  is  warm  an'  de  fire  is  bright, 

An'  de  bottle  is  close  at  han' — 
Out  on  de  reever  de  nort'  win'  blow, 
Down  on  de  valley  is  pile  de  snow, 
But  w'at  do  we  care  so  long  we  know 
We  're  safe  on  de  log  cabane? 
259 


THE  VOYAGEUR 

Drink  to  de  healt'  of  your  wife  an'  girl, 

Anoder  wan  for  your  frien', 
Den  geev'  me  a  chance,  for  on  all  de  worl* 

I  've  not  many  frien'  to  spare — 
I  'm  born,  w'ere  de  mountain  scrape  de  sky, 
An'  bone  of  ma  fader  an'  moder  lie, 
So  I  fill  de  glass  an'  I  raise  it  high 

An'  drink  to  de  Voyageur. 


For  dis  is  de  night  of  de  jour  de  1  'an,  * 

Wen  de  man  of  de  Grand  Nor'  Wes' 
T'ink  of  hees  home  on  de  St.  Laurent, 

An'  frien'  he  may  never  see — 
Gone  he  is  now,  an'  de  beeg  canoe 
No  more  you  '11  see  wit'  de  red-shirt  crew, 
But  long  as  he  leev'  he  was  alway  true, 
So  we  '11  drink  to  hees  memory. 


Ax'  heem  de  nort'  win'  w'at  he  see 

Of  de  Voyageur  long  ago, 
An'  he  '11  say  to  you  w  'at  he  say  to  me, 

So  lissen  hees  story  well — 
"I  see  de  track  of  hees  botte  sau-vagef 
On  many  a  hill  an'  long  portage 
Far,  far  away  from  hees  own  vill-age 

An'  soun'  of  de  parish  bell — 

*  New  Year's  Day.  t  Indian  boot. 

260 


THE  VOYAGEUR 

"I  never  can  play  on  de  Hudson  Bay 

Or  mountain  dat  lie  between 
But  I  meet  heem  singin'  hees  lonely  way 

De  nappies'  man  I  know — 
I  cool  hees  face  as  he  's  sleepin'  dere 
Under  de  star  of  de  Red  Riviere, 

An'  off  on  de  home  of  de  great  w'ite  bear, 

I  'm  seein'  hees  dog  traineau.* 


"  De  woman  an'  chil'ren  's  runnin'  out 
On  de  wigwam  of  de  Cree — 

De  leetle  papoose  dey  laugh  an'  shout 
W  'en  de  soun'  of  hees  voice  dey  hear — 

De  oldes'  warrior  of  de  Sioux 

Kill  hese'f  dancin'  de  w'ole  night  t'roo, 

An  de  Blackfoot  girl  remember  too 
De  ole  tarn  Voyageur. 


"De  blaze  of  hees  camp  on  de  snow  I  see, 

An'  I  lissen  hees  'En  Roulant' 
On  de  Ian'  w'ere  de  reindeer  travel  free, 

Ringin'  out  strong  an'  clear — 
Offen  de  grey  wolf  sit  before 
De  light  is  come  from  hees  open  door, 
An'  caribou  foller  along  de  shore 
De  song  of  de  Voyageur. 

*  Dog-sleigh. 

261 


"  If  he  only  kip  goin',  de  red  ceinture,* 

I  'd  see  it  upon  de  Pole 
Some  mornin'  I  'm  startin'  upon  de  tour 

For  blowin1  de  worl'  aroun' — 
But  w'erever  he  sail  an'  w'erever  he  ride, 
De  trail  is  long  an'  de  trail  is  wide, 
An'  city  an'  town  on  ev  'ry  side 

Can  tell  of  hees  campin'  groun'." 

So  dat  's  de  reason  I  drink  to-night 

To  de  man  of  de  Grand  Nor'  Wes', 
For  hees  heart  was  young,  an'  hees  heart  was 

light 

So  long  as  he  's  leevin'  dere — 
I  'm  proud  of  de  sam'  blood  in  my  vein 
I  'm  a  son  of  de  Nort'  Win  '  wance  again — 
So  we  '11  fill  her  up  till  de  bottle  's  drain 
An'  drink  to  de  Voyageur. 

Bruno  the  Hunter 

"\7~OU    never    hear    tell,    Marie,  ma    femme, 

Of  Bruno   de  hunter  man, 
Wit'  hees  wild  dogs  chasin'  de  moose  an'  deer, 
Every  day  on  de  long,  long  year, 
Off  on  de  hillside  far  an'  near, 
An'  down  on  de  beeg  savane? 

*  Canadian  sash. 

262 


BRUNO  THE  HUNTER 

Not'ing  can  leev'  on  de  woods,  Marie, 

W  'en  Bruno  is  on  de  track, 
An'  young  caribou,  an'  leetle  red  doe 
Wit'   baby  to  come  on  de  spring,   dey  know 
De  pity  dey  get   w'en   hees  bugle  blow 

An'  de  black'  dogs  answer  back. 

No  bird  on  de  branch  can  finish  hees  song, 

De  squirrel  no  longer  play — 
De  leaf  on  de  maple  don't  need  to  wait 
Till  fros'  of  October  is  at  de  gate 
'Fore  de  blood  drops  come:  an'  de  fox  sleeps  late 

W'en  Bruno  is  pass  dat  way. 

So  de  devil  ketch  heem  of  course  at  las' 

Dat 's  w  'at  de  ole  folk  say, 

An'  spik  to  heem,   "Bruno,  w'at    for  you  kill 
De  moose  an'  caribou  of  de  hill 
An'  fill  de  woods  wit'  deir  blood  until 

You  could  run  a  mill  night  an'  day? 

"  Mebbe  you  lak  to  be  moose  youse'f, 

An'  see  how  de  hunter  go, 
So  I  '11  change  your  dogs  into  loup  garou,* 
An'  wance  on  de  year  dey  '11  be  chasin'  you — 
An'  res'  of  de  tarn  w'en  de  sport  is  t'roo, 

You  '11  pass  wit'  me  down  below. " 

*  Vv'cre  wolf. 

263 


BRUNO  THE  HUNTER 

An'  dis  is  de  night  of  de  year,  Marie, 

Bruno  de  hunter  wake: 
Soon  as  de  great  beeg  tender  cloud 
Up  on  de  mountain  's  roarin'  loud — 
He  '11  come  from  hees  grave  w'ere  de  pine  tree 
crowd 

De  shore  of  de  leetle  lake. 

You  see  de  lightning  zig,  zig,  Marie, 

Spittin'  lak'  loup  cervier,* 
Ketch  on  de  trap?     Oh!  it  won't  be  long 
Till  mebbe  you  lissen  anoder  song, 
For  de  sky  is  dark  an'  de  win'  is  strong, 

An'  de  chase  is  n't  far  away. 

Wy  shiver  so  moche,  Marie,  ma  femme, 

For  de  log  is  burnin'  bright? 
Ah!  dere  she  's  goin',  "Hulloo!  Hulloo!" 

An'  oh!  how  de  tender  is  roarin'  too! 
But  it  can't  drown  de  cry  of  de  loup  garou 

On  Bruno  de  hunter's  night. 

Over  de  mountain  an'  t'roo  de  swamp, 

Don't  matter  how  far  or  near, 
Every  place  hees  moccasin  know 
Bruno  de  hunter  he  's  got  to  go 
'Fore  de  grave  on  de  leetle  lake  below 

Close  up  for  anoder  year. 

*  Lynx. 

264 


PRIDE 

But  dey  say  de  ole  feller  watch  all  night, 

So  you  need  n't  be  scare,  Marie, 
For  he  '11  never  stir  from  de  rocky  cave 
Were  door  only  open  beneat'  de  wave, 
Till  Bruno  come  back  to  hees  lonely  grave- 

An'  de  devil  he  turn  de  key. 


Dat  's  way  for  punish  de  hunter  man 

W  'en  murder  is  on  hees  min' — 
So  he  better  stop  w  'ile  de  work  is  new, 
Or  mebbe  de  devil  will  ketch  heem  too, 
An'  chase  heem  aroun'  wit'  de  loup  garou 
Gallopin'  close  behin'. 


Pride 

TV/TA  fader  he  spik  to  me  long  ago, 

"Alphonse,  it  is  better    go  leetle  slow 
Don't  put  on  de  style  if  you  can't  afford, 
But  satisfy  be  wit'  your  bed  an'  board. 
De  bear  wit'  hees  head  too  high  alway, 

Know  not' ing  at  all  till  de  trap  go  smash. 
An'  mooshrat  dat  's  swimmin'  so  proud  to-day 

Very  off  en  to-morrow  is  on  de  hash."* 

*  Old  proverb  of  Ste.  Flore. 
265 


PRIDE 

Edouard  de  Seven  of  Angleterre, 

An'  few  oder  place  beside, 
He  's  got  de  horse  an'  de  carriage  dere 

W'enever  he  want  to  ride. 
Wit'  sojer  in  front  to  clear  de  way, 
Sojer  behin'  all  dress  so  gay, 
Ev  'rywan  makin'  de  grand  salaam, 
An'  plaintee  o'  ban'  playin'  all  de  tarn. 


Edouard  de  Seven  of  Angleterre, 

All  he  has  got  to  do, 
Wen  he  's  crossin'  de  sea,  don't  matter  w'ere, 

Is  call  for  de  ship  an'  crew. 
Den  hois'  de  anchor  from  down  below, 
Vive  le  Roi!  an'  away  she  go, 
An'  flag  overhead,  w'en  dey  see  dat  sight 
Were  is  de  nation  don't  be  polite? 


An'  dere  's  de  boss  of  United  State, 

An'  w'at  dey  call  Philippine — 
De  Yankee  t'ink  he  was  somet'ing  great, 

An'  beeg  as  de  king  or  queen — 
So  dey  geev'  heem  a  house  near  touch  de  sky, 
An'  paint  it  so  w'ite  it  was  blin'  de  eye 
An'  long  as  he  's  dere  beginnin'  to  en', 
Don't  cos'   heem  not'ing  for  treat  hees  frien'. 
266 


PRIDE 

So  dere  's  two  feller,  Edouard  de  King 

An'  Teddy  Roos-vel'  also, 
No  wonder  dey  're  proud,  for  dey  got  few  t'ing 

Was  helpin'  dem  mak'  de  show — 
But  oh!  ma  Gosh!  w'en  you  talk  of  pride 
An'  w  'at  dey  call  style,  an'  puttin'  on  side, 
W  'ere  is  de  man  can  go  before 
De  pig-sticker  champion  of  Ste.  Flore? 


Use  to  be  nice  man  too,  dey  say, 

Jeremie  Bonami, 
Talk  wit'  hees  frien'  in  a  frien'ly  way 

Sam'  as  you'  se  'f  an'  me — 
Of  course  it  's  purty  beeg  job  he  got, 
An'  no  wan  expec'  heem  talk  a  lot, 
But  still  would  n't  hurt  very  moche,  I  'm  sure, 
If  wance  in  a  w'ile  he  'd  say,  "Bonjour. " 


Yi !    Yi !  to  see  heem  come  down  de  hill 

Some  mornin'  upon  de  fall, 
W'en  de  pig  is  fat  an'  ready  to  kill, 

He  don't  know  hees  frien'  at  all — 
Look  at  hees  face  an'  it  seem  to  say, 
"Important  duty  I  got  to-day, 
Killin'  de  pig  on  de  contree  side, — 
Is  n't  dat  some  reason  for  leetle  pride?" 
267 


PRIDE 

Lissen  de  small  boy  how  dey  shout 
Wen  Jeremie  's  marchin'  t'roo 
De  market  place  wit'  hees  cane  feex  out 

Wit'  ribbon  red,  w'ite,  an'  blue — 
An'  den  he  jomp  on  de  butcher 's  block, 
An'  after  de  crowd  is  stop  deir  talk, 
An'  leetle  boy  holler  no  more  "Hooray, 
Dis  is  de  word  Jeremie  he  say — 


"I  'm  de  only  man  on  de  w'ole  Ste.  Flore 

Can  kill  heem  de  pig  jus'  right, 
Please  t'ink  of  dat,  an'  furdermore 

Don't  matter  it 's  day  or  night, 
Can  do  it  less  tarn,  five  dollar  I  bet, 
Dan  any  pig-sticker  you  can  get 
From  de  w'ole  of  de  worl'  to  w'ere  I  leevr- 
Will  somebody  help  to  roll  up  ma  sleeve? 


':Some  feller  challenge  jus'  here  an'  dere, 

An'  more  on  deir  own  contree, 
But  me — I  challenge  dem  ev'ry w'ere 

All  over  de  worl' — sapree ! 
To  geev'  dem  a  chance,  for  dere  might  be  some 

Beeg  feller,  for  all  I  know, 
But  if  dey  're  ready,  wall!  let  dem  come, 

An'  me — I  'm  geevin'   dem  plaintee  show. " 
268 


PRIDE 

Challenge  lak  dat  twenty  year  or  more 

He  's  makin'  it  ev'ry  fall, 
But  never  a  pig-sticker  come  Ste.  Flore 

'Cos  Jeremie  scare  dem  all — 
No  wonder  it 's  makin'   heem  feel  so  proud, 

Even  Emperor  Germanic 
Can't  put  on  de  style  or  talk  more  loud 

Dan  Jeremie  Bonami. 


But  Jeremie's  day  can't  las'  alway, 

An'  so  he  commence  to  go 
W  'en  he  jomp  on  de  block  again  an'  say 

To  de  crowd  stannin'  dere  below, 
"Lissen,  ma  frien',  to  de  word  I  spik, 
For  I  'm  tire  of  de  challenge  until  I  'm  sick, 
Can't  say,  but  mebbe  I  '11  talk  no  more 
For  glory  an'  honor  of  ole  Ste.  Flore. 


"  I  got  some  trouble  aroun'  ma  place 

Wit'  ma  nice  leetle  girl  Rosine, 
An'  I  see  w'en  I  'm  lookin'  on  all  de  face, 

You  're  knowin'  jus'  w  'at  I  mean — 
Very  easy  to  talk,  but  w  'en  dey  come 
For  seein'   her  twenty  young  man  ba   Gum! 
I  tole  you  ma'  frien',  it  was  purty  tough, 
'Sides  wan  chance  in  twenty  is  not  enough — 
269 


PRIDE 

'  Now  lissen  to  me,  all  you  young  man 

Is  wantin'  ma  girl  Rosine — 
I  offer  a  chance  an'  you  '11  understan' 

It  's  bes'  you  was  never  seen; — 
T  'ree  minute  start  I  '11  geev' — no  more — 
An'  if  any  young  feller  upon  Ste.  Flore 
Can  beat  me  stickin'  de  pig  nex'  fall, 
Let  heem  marry  ma  girl  Rosine — dat  's  all. ' 


All  right — an'  very  nex'  week  he  start, 

De  smartes'  boy  of  de  lot — 
An'  he  's  lovin'  Rosine  wit'  all  hees  heart, 

De  young  Adelard  Marcotte — 
Don't  say  very  moche  about  w'ere  he  go, 
But  I  t'ink  mese'f  it  was  Buffalo — 
An'  plaintee  more  place  on  de  State  dat 's  beeg 
W  'ere  he  don't  do  not'ing  but  stick  de  pig. 


So  of  course  he  's  pickin'  de  fancy  trick 

An'  ev'ryt'ing  else  dey  got — 
Work  over  tarn — but  he  got  homesick 

De  young  Adelard  Marcotte 
Jus'  about  tarn'  w'en  de  fall  come  along — 
So  den  he  wissle  hees  leetle  song 
An'  buy  tiquette  for  de  ole  Ste.  Flore, 
An'  back  on  de  village  he  come  some  more. 
270 


PRIDE 

Ho!  Ho!  ma  Jeremie  Bonami, 

Get  ready  you'  se  'f  to-day, 
For  you  got  beeg  job  you  was  never  see 

Will  tak'  all  your  breat'  away — 
."Come  on!  come  on!"  dey  be  shoutin'  loud, 
De  Bishop  hese'f  could  n't  draw  de  crowd 
Of  folk  on  de  parish  for  mile  aroun', 
Till  dey  could  n't  fin'  place  upon  de    groun". 


Hi!     Hi!    Jeremie,  you  may  sweat  an'  swear, 

Your   tam   is   arrive   at   las' — 
Dere  's  no  use  pullin'  out  all  your  hair 

Or  drinkin'  de  w'isky  glass — 
Spit  on  your  han'  or  hitch  de  pants — 
You  '11  never  have  anyt'ing  lak  a  chance, 
Hooraw!     Hooraw!  let  her  go  wance  more, 
An'  Adelard  's  champion  of  all  Ste.  Flore! 


"  Away  on  de  pump ! "  de  crowd  is  yell, 

"No  use  for  heem  goin'  die." 
Dey  nearly  drown  Jeremie  on  de  well 

But  he  's  comin'  roun'  bimeby 
Rosine  dat  's  laughin'  away  all  day 
Is  startin'  to  cry,  an'  den  she  say — 
"O  fader  dear,  won't  you  geev'  me  kiss 
For  I  never  s'pose  it  would  come  to  dis? 
271 


DIEUDONNE  (GOD-GIVEN) 

"Don't  blame  de  boy  over  dere,  't  was  me 

Dat  sen'  away  Adelard — 
He  's  sorry  for  beat  you,  I  'm  sure,  ba  oui, 

An'  dat  's  w'at  I  'm  crying  for — 
'Cos  it 's  all  ma  fault  you  was  lick  to-day, 
Don't  care  w'at  any  wan  else  can  say — 
But  remember  too,  an'  you  '11  not  forget 
De  championship  's  still  on  de  familee  yet. ' 
An'    de  ole    man   smile. 


Dieudonne  (God-Given) 

TF  I  sole  ma  ole  blind  trotter  for  fifty  dollar 

cash 

Or  win  de  beeges'  prize  on  lotterie, 
If  some  good  frien'  die  an'  lef  me  fines'  house 

on  St.  Eustache, 
You  t'ink  I  feel  more  happy  dan  I  be? 


No,  sir !    An'  I  can  tole  you,  if  you  never  know 

before, 

Wy  de  kettle  on  de  stove  mak'  such  a  fuss, 
W  'y  de  robin  stop  hees  singin'  an'  come  peekin* 

t'roo  de  door 

For  learn  about  de  nice  t'ing  's  come  to  us — 
272 


THE  DEVIL 

An'  w'en  he  see  de  baby  lyin'  dere  upon  de  bed 
Lak  leetle  Son  of  Mary  on  de  ole  tarn  long 

ago — 
Wit'  de  sunshine  an'   de  shadder  makin'  ring 

aroun'  hees  head, 
No  wonder  M  'sieu  Robin  wissle  low. 

An*  we  can't  help  feelin'  glad  too,  so  we  call 

heem  Dieudonne; 
An'    he    never    cry,   dat    baby,  w'en   he  's 

chrissen  by  de  pries' 
All  de  sam'  I  bet  you  dollar  he  '11  waken  up 

some  day, 
An'  be  as  bad  as  leetle  boy  Bateese. 

The  Devil 

A  LONG  de  road  from  Bord  a  Plouffe 

To  Kaz-a-baz-u-a 
Were  poplar  trees  lak  sojers  stan', 
An'  all  de  Ian'  is  pleasan'  Ian', 
In  off  de  road  dere  leev's  a  man 
Call  Louis  Des  jar  dins. 

An'  Louis,  w'en  he  firse  begin 

To  work  hees  leetle  place, 
He  work  so  hard  de  neighbors  say, 
"Unless  he  tak's  de  easy  way 
Dat  feller  's  sure  to  die  some  day, 

We  see  it  on  hees  face. " 
is  273 


THE  DEVIL 

'T  was  lak  a  swamp,  de  farm  he  got, 

De  water  ev'ryw'ere — 
Might  drain  her  off  as  tight  as  a  drum. 
An'  back  dat  water  is  boun'  to  come 
In  less  'n  a  day  or  two — ba  Gum ! 

'T  would  mak'  de  angel  swear. 

So  Louis  t'ink  of  de  bimeby, 

If  he  leev'  so  long  as  dat, 
Wen  he  's  ole  an'  blin'  an'  mebbe  deafr 
All  alone  on  de  house  hese'f, 
No  frien',  no  money,  no  not 'ing  lef, 

An'  poor — can't  kip  a  cat. 

So  wan  of  de  night  on  winter  tarn, 

Wen  Louis  is  on  hees  bed, 
He  say  out  loud  lak  a  crazy  man, 
"I  'm  sick  of  tryin'  to  clear  dis  Ian', 
Work  any  harder  I  can't  stan', 

Or  it  will  kill  me  dead. 


"Now  if  de  devil  would  show  hese'f 

An'  say  to  me,  'Tiens!  Louis! 
Hard  tarn  an'  work  she  's  at  an'  en', 
You  '11  leev'  lak  a  Grand  Seigneur  ma  frien' ,, 
If  only  you  '11  be  ready  w  'en 

I  want  you  to  come  wit 'me. ' 
274 


THE  DEVIL 

"I  'd  say,  'Yass,  yass-^-  'maudit!  w'at  's  dat?'* 

An'  he  see  de  devil  dere — 
Brimstone,  ev'ryt'ing  bad  dat  smell, 
You  know  right  away  he  's  come  from — well, 
De  place  I  never  was  care  to  tell — 

An'  wearin'  hees  long  black  hair, 

Lak  election  man,  de  kin'  I  mean 

You  see  aroun'  church  door, 
Spreadin'  hese'f  on  great  beeg  speech 
'Bout  poor  man  's  goin'  some  day  be  reech, 
But  dat  's  w'ere  it  alway  come  de  heetch, 

For  poor  man  's  alway  poor. 

De  only  diff 'rence — me — I  see 

'T  ween  devil  an'  long-hair  man 
It  's  hard  to  say,  but  I  know  it  's  true, 
Wen  devil  promise  a  t'ing  to  do 
Dere  's  no  mistak',  he  kip  it  too — 

I  hope  you  understan'. 

So  de  devil  spik,  "You  're  not  content, 

An'  want  to  be  reech,  Louis — 
All  right,  you  '11  have  plaintee,  never  fear 
No  wan  can  beat  you  far  an'  near, 
An'  I  '11  leave  you  alone  for  t'orty  year, 

An'  den  you  will  come  wit'  me. 
275 


THE  DEVIL 

"Be  careful  now —  it 's  beeg  contrac', 

So  mebbe  it 's  bes'  go  slow; 
For  me — de  promise  I  mak'  to  you 
Is  good  as  de  bank  Riviere  du  Loup 
For  you — w'enever  de  tarn  is  due, 
Ba  tonder !  you  got  to  go. " 

Louis  try  hard  to  tak'  hees  tam 

But  w'en  he  see  de  fall 
Comin'  along  in  a  week  or  so, 
All  aroun'  heem  de  rain  an'  snow 
An'  pork  on  de  bar'l  runnin'  low, 

He  don't  feel  good  at  all. 

An'  w'en  he  t'ink  of  de  swampy  farm 

An'  gettin'  up  winter  night, 
Watchin'  de  stove  if  de  win'  get  higher 
For  fear  de  chimley  go  on  fire, 
It 's  makin'  poor  Louis  feel  so  tire 
He  tell  de  devil,  "All  right. " 

"Correct,"  dat  feller  say  right  away, 

"  I  '11  only  say,  Au  revoir, " 
An'  out  of  de  winder  he  's  goin'  pouf ! 
Beeg  nose,  long  hair,  short  tail,  an'  hoof 
•Off  on  de  road  to  Bord  a  Plouffe 

Crossin'  de  reever  dere. 
276 


THE  DEVIL 

W  'en  Louis  get  up  nex'  day,  ma  frien', 

Dere  's  lot  of  devil  sign — 
Bar'l  o'  pork  an'  keg  o'  rye, 
Bag  o'  potato  ten  foot  high, 
Pile  o'  wood  nearly  touch  de  sky, 

Was  some  o'  de  t'ing  he  fin'. 

Suit  o'  clothes  would  have  cos'  a  lot 

An'  ev'ryt'ing  I  dunno, 
Trotter  horse  w'en  he  want  to  ride 
Eatin'  away  on  de  barn  outside, 
Stan'  all  day  if  he  's  never  tied, 

An'  watch  an'  chain  also. 


An'  swamp  dat  's  bodder  heem  many  tam, 

Were  is  dat  swamp  to-day? 
Don't  care  if  you  're  huntin'  up  an*  down 
You   won't   fin'    not'ing    but   medder   groun', 
An'  affer  de  summer  come  aroun' 

Were  can  you  see  such  hay? 

Wall !  de  year  go  by,  an'  Louis  leev* 

Widout  no  work  to  do, 
Rise  w  'en  he  lak  on  winter  day, 
Fin'  all  de  snow  is  clear  away, 
No  fuss,  no  not  'ing,  dere  's  de  sleigh 

An'  trotter  waitin'  too. 
277 


THE  DEVIL 

W  'en  t'orty  year  is  nearly  t  'roo 
An'  devil 's  not  come  back 

'Course  Louis  say,  "Wall!  he  forget 

Or  t'ink  de  tarn  's  not  finish  yet; 

I  '11  tak'  ma  chance  an'  never  fret,  " 
But  dat  's  w'ere  he  mak'  mistak'. 


For  on  a  dark  an'  stormy  night 

W  'en  Louis  is  sittin'  dere, 
Affer  he  fassen  up  de  door 
De  devil  come  as  he  come  before, 
Lookin'  de  sam'  only  leetle  more, 

For  takin'  heem — you  know  w'ere. 

"Asseyez  vous,  sit  down,  ma  frien', 

Bad  night  be  on  de  road ; 
You  come  long  way  an'  should  be  tire — 
Jus'  wait  an'  mebbe  I  feex  de  fire — 
Tak'  off  your  clothes  for  mak'  dem  drier, 

Dey  mus'  be  heavy  load. " 

Dat 's  how  poor  Louis  Desjardins 

Talk  to  de  devil,  sir — 
Den  say,  "Try  leetle  w'isky  blanc, 
Dey  're  makin'  it  back  on  St.  Laurent — 
It  's  good  for  night  dat 's  cole  an'  raw, " 

But  devil  never  stir, 
278 


THE  DEVIL 

Until  he  smell  de  smell  dat  come 

Wen  Louis  mak'  it  hot 
Wit'  sugar,  spice,  an'  ev'ryt'ing, 
Enough  to  mak'  a  man's  head  sing — 
For  winter,  summer,  fall  an'  spring — 

It  's  very  bes'  t'ing  we  got. 

An'  so  de  devil  can't  refuse 

To  try  de  w'isky  blanc, 
An'  say,  "I  'm  tryin,  many  drink, 
An'  dis  is  de  fines'  I  don't  t'ink, 
De  firse,  ba  tonder !  mak'  me  wink — 

Hooraw,  pour  Canadaw!" 

"Merci — non,  non — I  tak'  no  more, " 

De  devil  say  at  las', 
"For  tarn  is  up  wit'  you,  Louis, 
So  come  along,  ma  frien',  wit'  me, 
So  many  star  I  'm  sure  I  see, 

De  storm  she  mus'  be  pas'. " 

"No  hurry — wait  a  minute,  please," 

Say  Louis  Desjardins, 
"We  '11  have  a  smoke  before  we're  t'roo, 
'T  will  never  hurt  mese'f  or  you 
To  try  a  pipe,  or  mebbe  two, 

Of  tabac  Canayen. "* 

*  Canadian  tobacco. 

279 


THE  DEVIL 

"Wan  pipe  is  all  I  want  for  me — 

We  '11  finish  our  smoke  downstair," 
De  devil  say,  an'  it  was  enough, 
For  w'en  he  tak'  de  very  firse  puff 
He  holler  out,  "Maudit!  w'at  stuff! 
Fresh  air!  fresh  air!!  fresh  air!!!" 


An'  oh!  he  was  never  sick  before 
Till  he  smoke  tabac  Bruneau — 
Can't  walk  or  fly,  but  he  want  fresh  air, 
So  Louis  put  heem  on  rockin'  chair 
An' t  'row  heem  off  on  de  road  out  dere — 
An'  tole  heem  go  below. 

An'  he  shut  de  door  an'  fill  de  place 

Wit'  tabac  Canayen, 
An'  never  come  out,  an'  dat  's  a  fac' — 
But  smoke  away  till  hees  face  is  black — 
So  dat 's  w'y  de  devil  don't  come  back 

For  Louis  Desjardins. 


An'  dere  he  's  yet,  an'  dere  he  '11  stay — 

So  weech  of  de  two  11  win 
'Can't  say  for  dat — it  's  kin'  of  a  doubt, 
For  Louis,  de  pipe  never  leave  hees  mout', 
An'  night  or  day  can't  ketch  heem  out, 

An'  devil's  too  scare  go  in. 
280 


THE  FAMILY  LARAMIE 

The  Family  Laramie 

1LISSH!   look    at    ba-bee   on    de    leetle    blue 
chair, 

Wat  you  t'ink  he  's  tryin'  to  do? 
Wit'  pole  on  de  han'  lak  de  lumberman, 

A-shovin'  along  canoe. 
Dere  's  purty  strong  current  behin'  de  stove, 

W  'ere  it  's  passin'  de  chimley-stone, 
But  he  11  come  roun'  yet,  if  he  don't  upset,. 

So  long  he  was  lef '  alone. 

Dat  's  way  ev'ry  boy  on  de  house  begin 

No  sooner  he  's  twelve  mont'  ole; 
He  '11  play  canoe  up  an'  down  de  Soo 

An'  paddle  an'  push  de  pole, 
Den  haul  de  log  all  about  de  place, 

Till  dey  're  fillin'  up  mos'  de  room, 
An'  say  it 's  all  right,  for  de  storm  las'  night 

Was  carry  away  de  boom. 

Mebbe  you  see  heem,  de  young  loon  bird, 

Wit'  half  of  de  shell  hangin'  on, 
Tak'  hees  firse  slide  to  de  water  side, 

An'  off  on  de  lake  he  's  gone. 
Out  of  de  cradle  dey  're  goin'  sam'  way 

On  reever  an'  lake  an'  sea ; 
For  born  to  de  trade,  dat  's  how  dey  're  made, 

De  familee  Laramie. 

281 


YANKEE  FAMILIES 

An'  de  reever  she  's  lyin'  so  handy  dere 

On  foot  of  de  hill  below, 
Dancin'  along  an'  singin'  de  song 

As  away  to  de  sea  she  go, 
No  wonder  I  never  can  lak  dat  song, 

For  soon  it  is  comin'  w  'en 
Dey  11  lissen  de  call,  leetle  Pierre  an'  Paul, 

An'  w'ere  will  de  moder  be  den? 


She  11  sit  by  de  shore  w'en  de  evenin's  come, 

An'  spik  to  de  reever  too : 
""O  reever,  you   know  how  dey  love  you   so, 

Since  ever  dey  're  seein'  you, 
.For  sake  of  dat  love  bring  de  leetle  boy  home 

Once  more  to  de  moder 's  knee. " 
An'  mebbe  de  prayer  I  be  makin'  dere 

Will  help  bring  dem  back  to  me. 


Yankee  Families 

"V7~OU  s'pose  God  love  de  Yankee 

An'  de  Yankee  woman  too, 
Lak  he  love  de  folk  at  home  on  Canadaw? 

I  dunno — 'cos  if  he  do, 

Wat  's  de  reason  he  don't  geev'  dem  familee 

Is  dere  anybody  hangin'  roun'  can  answer  me 

Wile  I  wait  an'  smoke  dis  pipe  of  good  tabac? 

282 


YANKEE  FAMILIES 

An'  now  I  '11  tole  you  somet'ing 

Mebbe  help  you  bimeby, 
An'  dere  's  no  mistak'  it 's  w  'at  dey  call  sure 

sign — 

W  'en  you  miss  de  baby's  cry 
As  you  're  goin'  mak'  some  visit  on  de  State 
Dat 's  enough — you  needn't  ax  if  de  train's 

on  tarn  or  late, 
You  can  bet  you  're  on  de  Yankee  side  de  line. 

Unless  dere  's  oder  folk  dere, 

Mebbe  wan  or  two  or  t'ree, 
Canayen  is  comin'  workin'  on  de  State — 

Den  you  see  petite  Marie 
Leetle     Joe     an'     Angelique,     Hormisdas    an' 

Dieudonne", 

But  you  can't  tole  half  de  nam' — it  don't  mat- 
ter any  way — 
'Sides  de  fader  he  don't  t'ink  it  's  not'ing  great. 

De  moder,  you  can  see  her 

An'  she  got  de  basket  dere 
Wit'  de  fine  t'ing  for  de  chil  'ren  nice  an'  slick — 

For  dey  can't  get  fat  on  air — 
Cucumber,  milk,  an'  onion,  some  leetle  cake  also 
De  ole  gran'moder  's  makin'  on  de  farm  few 

-  days  ago — 

Wat 's  use  buy  dollar  dinner  mak'  dem  sick? 
283 


YANKEE  FAMILIES 

But  look  de  Yankee  woman 
Wit'  de  book  upon  her  han', 
Readin',  readin',  an'  her  husban',  he  can't  get 

Any  chance  at  all,  poor  man, 
For  sit  down,  de  way  de  seat 's  all  pile  up  wit' 

magazine — 

De  t'ing  lak  dat  on  Canadaw  is  never,  never  seen. 
Wouldn't   she   be   better  wit'    some   chil'ren? 
Wall!   you   bet! 

No  wonder  dey  was  bringin' 

For  helpin'  dem  along 
So  many  kin'  of  feller  I  dunno — 

Chinee  washee  from  Hong  Kong 
An'  w'at  dey  call  Da-go,  was  work  for  dollar  a 

day, 
But  w'en  dey  mak'  some  money,  off  dey  're 

goin',  right  away — 
Dat 's  de  reason  dey  was  get  de  nam'  Da-go. 

Of  course  so  long  dey  're  comin' 

From  ev  'ry  place  dey  can, 
Not  knowin'  moche,  dere  's  not'ing  fuss  about 

Only  boss  de  stranger  man — 
But  now  dem  gang  of  feller  dat 's  come  across 

de  sea — 
He 's    gettin'    leetle    smarter,  an'    he    got    de 

familee — 

So  Uncle  Sam  mus'  purty  soon  look  out. 
284 


YANKEE  FAMILIES 

I  wonder  he  don't  know  it — 

It 's  funny  he  don't  see 
Dere  's    somet'ing    else    dan    money    day    an' 

night — 

Non — he  '11  work  hese'f  era-zee, 
Den  travel  roun'  de  worl',  an'  use  de  money 

too — 
De  King  hese'f  can't  spen'  lak  de  Yankee  man 

is  do — 
But  w'ere  's  de  leetle  chil'ren?  dat  's  not  right! 

W  'at 's  use  of  all  de  money 

If  dere  ain  't  some  boy  an'  girl 
Mak'  it  pleasan'   for  de  Yankee  an'  hees  wife 

Wen  dey  travel  on  de  worl'  ? 
For  me  an'  Eugenie  dere  's  not'ing  we  lak  bes' 
Dan  gader  up  de  chil'ren  an'  get  dem  nicely 

dress — 
W'y  it's  more  dan  half  de  pleasure  of  our  life. 

I  love  de  Yankee  woman 

An'  de  Yankee  man  also, 
An'  mebbe  dey  '11  be  wiser  bimeby — 

But  I  lak  dem  all  to  know 
If  dey  want  to  kip  deir  own,  let  dem  raise  de 

familee — 

An'  den  dey  '11  boss  de  contree  from  de  moun- 
tain to  de  sea, 

For  dey  're  smart  enough  to  do  it  if  dey  try. 
285 


THE  LAST  PORTAGE 

The  Last  Portage 

T  'M  sleepin'  las'  night  w'en  I  dream  a  dream 

An'  a  wonderful  wan  it  seem — 
For  I  'm  off  on  de  road  I  was  never  see, 
Too  long  an'  hard  for  a  man  lak  me, 
So  ole  he  can  only  wait  de  call 
Is  sooner  or  later  come  to  all. 

De  night  is  dark  an  de  portage  dere 
Got  plaintee  o'  log  lyin'  ev'ryw'ere, 
Black  bush  aroun'  on  de  right  an'  lef, 
A  step  from  de  road  an'  you  los'  you*  se'f 
De  moon  an'  de  star  above  is  gone, 
Yet  somet'ing  tell  me  I  mus'  go  on. 

An'  off  in  front  of  me  as  I  go, 
Light  as  a  dreef  of  de  fallin'  snow — 
Who  is  dat  leetle  boy  dancin'  dere 
Can  see  hees  w'ite  dress  an'  curly  hair, 
An'  almos'  touch  heem,  so  near  to  me 
In  an'  out  dere  among  de  tree? 

An'  den  I  'm  hearin'  a  voice  is  say, 
"Come  along,  fader,  don't  min'  de  way, 
De  boss  on  de  camp  he  sen'  for  you, 
So  your  leetle  boy  's  going  to  guide  you  t'roo 
It 's  easy  for  me,  for  de  road  I  know, 
Cos  I  travel  it  many  long  year  ago." 
286 


THE  LAST  PORTAGE 

An'  oh!  mon  Dieu!  w'en  he  turn  hees  head 
I  'm  seein'  de  face  of  ma  boy  is  dead — 
Dead  wit'  de  young  blood  in  hees  vein — 
An'  dere  he  's  comin'  wance  more  again 
Wit'  de  curly  hair,  an'  dark-blue  eye, 
So  lak  de  blue  of  de  summer  sky — 

An'  now  no  more  for  de  road  I  care, 
An'  slippery  log  lyin'  ev'ryw'ere — 
De  swamp  on  de  valley,  de  mountain  too, 
But  climb  it  jus'  as  I  use  to  do — 
Don't  stop  on  de  road,  for  I  need  no  res' 
So  long  as  I  see  de  leetle  w'ite  dress. 

An'  I  f  oiler  it  on,  an'  wance  in  a  w'ile 
He  turn  again  wit'  de  baby  smile, 
An'  say,  "Dear  fader,  I  'm  here  you  see — 
We  're  bote  togeder,  jus'  you  an'  me — 
Very  dark  to  you,  but  to  me  it  's  light, 
De  road  we  travel  so  far  to-night. 

"De  boss  on  de  camp  w'ere  I  alway  stay 
Since  ever  de  tarn  I  was  go  away, 
He  welcome  de  poores'  man  dat  call, 
But  love  de  leetle  wan  bes*  of  all, 
So  dat 's  de  reason  I  spik  for  you 
An'  come  to-night  for  to  bring  you  t'roo. " 
287 


GETTING  ON 

Lak  de  young  Jesu  w  'en  he  's  here  below 
De  face  of  ma  leetle  son  look  jus'  so — 
Den  off  beyon',  on  de  bush  I  see 
De  w  'ite  dress  f adin'  among  de  tree — 
Was  it  a  dream  I  dream  las'  night 
Is  goin'  away  on  de  morning  light? 

Getting  On 

T    KNOW  I  'm  not  too  young,  an'  ma  back  is 

not  as  straight 

As  it  use  to  be  some  feefty  year  ago; 
Don't  care  to  go  aroun'  if  de  rain  is  fallin' 

down 

'Less  de  rheumateez  is  ketch  me  on  de  toe — • 
But  dat  is  ma  beez-nesse,  an'  no  matter  how  I 

feel- 
Oder  folk  dey  might  look  out  deir  own  affair 
'Stead  o'   w'isperin',    "Wall!    ba   Gosh!  lissen 

poor  Maxime  Meloche, 

How  dat  leetle  drop  o'  rain  is  mak'  heem 
swear! 

De  ole  man's   gettin'   on!" 

Smart  folk  lak  dat,  of  course,  mebbe  never  hear 

de  news 

Of  de  tam  he  's  comin'  sick  Guillaume  La- 
roche, 

»  288 


GETTING  ON 

Who  's  tak'  heem  home  to  die  w  'en  de  rap- 

ide  's  runnin'  high, 
An'  carry  heem  on  hees  shoulder  t'roo  de 

bush? 
Oh!  no,  it  was  n't  me,  only  wan  of  dem  young 

man 
Hardly    got    de    baby    moustache     on    de 

mout', 
Dat  's  de  reason  w  'y  I  say  to  mese'f  mos'  ev'ry 

day, 

"Purty  hard   dere 's  not'ing  else   dan   talk 
about 

'  De  ole  man  's  gettin'  on. ' " 


W  'at 's  mak'  me  feelin'  mad  is  becos  dey  don 't 

spik  out, 
Non !  dey  '11  sneak  aroun'  for  watch  me  as 

I  go, 

An'  if  I  mebbe  spill  leetle  water  on  de  hill, 
Wen  I  'm  comin'  from  de  well  down  dere 

below, 
No  use  for  tellin'  me — I  know  too  moche  mese'f, 

Dat 's  de  tarn  I  'm  very  sure  dey  alway  say, 
"See   heem   now,    how   slow   he   go — don't    I 

off  en  tole  you  so? 

We  're    sorry,    but     Maxime   is    have    hees 
day, 

De  ole  man  's  gettin'  on." 
to  289 


GETTING  ON 

It  's  foolish  t'ing  to  do,  for  dere  's  alway  hang 

aroun' 

Some  crazy  feller  almos'  ev'ry  day — 
So  I  might  a'  stay  at  home  'stead  o'  tryin'  feex 

de  boom, 

Dough  I  'm  sure  de  win'  is  blow  de  oder  way ; 
For  I  never  hear  dem  shout  w'en  dey  let  de 

water  out, 

An'  de  log  dey  come  a-bangin'  down  de  chute, 
But  leetle  Joe  Leblanc  ketch  me  on  de  pant, 

hooraw ! 

Den  spile  de  job  by  w'isperin',  "I  'm   afraid 
I  spik  de  trut', 

De   ole  man's  gettin'   on." 

Only  yesterday  de  pig  get  loose  an'  run  away, 
An'  de  nex'  t'ing  he  was  goin'  on  de  corn — 
So  I  run  an'  fetch  de  stick,  an'  affer  heem  so 

quick 

Jus'  to  mak'  heem  feelin'  sorry  he  was  born; 
An'  dat  pig  he  laugh  at  me,  an'  he  fill  hees 

belly  full 
'Fore   he 's   makin'    up   his   min'    for    come 

along — • 
I  'm  sure  I  see  heem  wink — should  n't  wonder 

if  he  t'ink, 

"Very     easy     see    dere 's     somet'ing     goin' 
wrong — 

De   ole   man  's    gettin'    on. " 
290 


GETTING  ON 

If  only  I  can  get  some  doctor  feex  me  up, 

Mak'  me  feel  a  leetle  looser  on  de  knee — 
On    de    shoulder,    ev'ryw'ere — ba    tonder!     I 

don't  care, 

I  '11  spen'  a  couple  o'  dollar,  mebbe  t'ree — 
Jus'  to  larn  dem  feller  dere  how  to  skip  an' 

how  to  jomp, 

On  de  way  I  beat  deir  fader  long  ago — 
Yass  siree!  an'  purty  soon  dey  '11  sing  anoder 

tune, 
An'  wonder  w'at  de  devil 's  dere  to  show 

De  ole  man  's  gettin'  on. 


Oh!  dat  maudit  rheumateez!  now  she  's  ketchin* 

me  again 

On  de  back  becos  I  'm  leetle  bit  excite, 
An'  put  ma  finger  down,  widout  stoopin'  on 

de  groun'— 

But   I  '11   do   dat   trick   to-morrow,   not   to- 
night— 
All  de  sam'  I  off  en  t'ink  ev'ry  dog  is  got  hees 

day, 

Dat 's  de  lesson  I  was  learnin'  on  de  school; 
So  I  can't  help  feelin'  blue  w-'en  I  wonder  if 

it 's  true 

W'at  dey  're  sayin — dough  o'  course  dey  're 
only  fool — 

De  ole  man  's  gettin'  on. 
291 


PIONEERS 

Pioneers 

TF  dey  're  walkin'  on  de  road  side,  an'  dey  're 

bote  in  love  togeder, 
An'  de  star  of  spring  is  shinin'  wit'  de  young 

moon  in  between, 
It  was  purty  easy  guessin'  dey  're  not  talkin' 

of  de  wedder, 

Wen  de  boy  is  comin'  twenty,  an'  de  girl  is 
jus'  eighteen. 

It 's  a  sign  de  winter  's  over,  an'  it 's  pleasan' 

hear  de  talkin' 
Of  de  bull-frog  on  de  swamp  dere  wit'  all 

hees  familee — 
But   it  's   lonesome   doin'    not 'ing,    an'    dere  's 

not   moche  fun   in   walkin', 
So  we  fin'  some  fence  dat  's  handy  for  mese'f 
an'  Rosalie. 

An'   I   dunno  how  it  happen,   w'en  her  head 

come  on  ma  shoulder, 
An'  her  black  eye  on  de  moonlight,  lak  de 

star  shine — dat  's  de  way. 
(Mebbe  it  's  becos  de  springtam)  so  I  ketch  her 

han'  an'  tole  her 

Of  how  moche  I  'd  lak  to  tak'  her  on  some 
contree  far  away. 
292 


PIONEERS 

Den  she  say,  I  '11  mak'  an  offer,  if  you  're  sure 

you  want  to  tak'  me 
On  de  place  I  dunno  w'ere — me — you  mus' 

pay  beeg  price,   Jo-seph. 
You  can  carry  me  off  to-morrow,  so  I  'm  never 

comin'  back — me — 

But  you  '11  lose  upon  de  bargain,  for  de  price 
I  want  's  you'  se'f. " 


I  was  purty  good  for  tradin',  mebbe  tak'  it 

from  ma  fader, 
For   de   ole   man 's   alway   tryin'    show   me 

somet'ing  dat  was  new — 
But  de  trade  I  mak'  dat    evenin'  wit'    poor 

Rosalie,  I  rader 

Not  say  not  'ing  moche  about  it,  dough  it 's 
bes'  I  never  do. 


So  we  settle  on  de  reever  wit'  de  bush  for  miles, 

•  behin'  us — 
Here  we  buil'  de  firse  log  shaintee,  only  me 

an'  Rosalie — 
Dat 's  de  woman  help  her  husban' !  an'  w  'en 

winter   come   an'    fin'   us 
We  was  ready  waitin'  for  heem  jus'  as  happy 
as  could  be. 

293 


PIONEERS 

Bar'l  o'  pork  an'  good  potato,  wan  or  two  oder 

t'ing  too 
Leetle  w'isky,   plaintee  flour,  an'  wood-pile 

stannin'  near — 
Don't  min'  de  hardes'  winter,  an'  fat  enough 

in   spring  too — 

De  folk  dat  's  comin'  handy  w'en  you  want 
de  contree  clear! 


Rosalie,  you  see  her  outside  on  de  porch  dere 

wit'  her  knittin' — 
Yass,  of  course  I  know  she  's  changin'  since 

de  day  she  marry  me — 
An'  she  11  never  sit  no  more  dere  on  de  fence 

lak  leetle  kitten — 

She  'd  be  safer  on  a  stone  wall,  but  she  's 
still  ma  Rosalie. 


All  alone:  de  neares'  shaintee,  over  ten  mile 

down  de  reever — 
An'  might  be  only  yesterday,  I  'member  it 

so  well — 
W'en    I  'm    comin'    home   wan   morning    affer 

trappin'   on  de  beaver, 

An'  ma  wife  is  sayin',  "Hurry,  go  an'  fetch 
Ma-dame  Labelle. " 
294 


PIONEERS 

If  you  're  stan'in'  on  de  bank  dere,  you  mus* 

t  'ink  I  'm  crazy  feller 
By  de  way  I  work  de  paddle,  an'  de  way 

'  canoe  she  go — 
But  Ma-dame  know  all  about  it,  an'  I  never 

need  to  tell  her, 

An'  we  jus'  get  back  in  tarn*  dere  for  wel- 
come leetle  Joe. 


Dat  's  de  way  dem  woman 's  doin'   for  help 

along  each  oder, 
For  Pierre  Labelle  he  's  comin'  now  an'  den 

for  Rosalie — 
Of  course  dere  's  many  tarn  too,   dey  got  to 

be  godmoder — 

An'    w'en   dey   want   godfader,    w'y   dere 's 
only   Pierre  an'   me. 


Twenty  year  so  hard  we  're  workin',   twenty 

year  reapin',  sowin', 
Choppin'    tree   an'   makin'   portage,    an'    de 

chil'ren  help  us  too — 

But  it's  never  feelin'  lonesome  w'ile  de  f ami- 
lee  is  growin', 

An'  de  cradle  seldom  empty,  an'  we  got  so 
moche  to  do. 

295 


PIONEERS 

Den  w'en  all  de  work  is  finish,  w'at   dey  're 

callin'  de  surveyor 
He  's  comin'  here  an'  fin'  us,  an'  of  course 

so  well  he  might — 
For  it  's  easy  job  to  foller,   w'en  de  road  is 

lyin'  dere, 

So  blin'  man  he  can  walk  it  wit'  hees  eyes 
closed,  darkes'  night. 


An'   de  nex'  t'ing  dere  's  a  township,  an'  de 

township  bring  de  taxes, 
An'  it  's  leetle  hard  on  us  too,  dat  's  way  it 

seem  to  me — 
An'  de  Gover  'ment,  I  s  'pose  dey  '11  never  t  'ink 

at  all  to  ax  us 

For  de  small    account  dey  're  owin'  mese'f 
an'  Rosalie. 


So    we  '11    see    de   beeg   procession   very   soon 

come  up  de  reever — 
Some  will  settle  on  de  roadside,   some  will 

stay  upon  de  shore — 
But  de  ole  place  we  be  clearin',  I  don't  t'ink 

we  '11  never  leave  her, 

Dough   we  're  all  surroun'  by   stranger   an' 
we  're  in  de  worl'  wance  more. 
296 


NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY 

Natural  Philosophy 

VTERY  off  en  I  be  t'inkin'  of  de  queer  folk 

goin'  roun', 
And  way  dey  kip  a-talkin'  of  de  hard  tarn 

get  along — 
May  have  plaintee  money  too,   an'  de  healt' 

be  good  an'  soun' — 
But  you  '11  fin'  dere  's  alway  somet'ing  goin' 

wrong — 
'Course  dere  may  be  many  reason  w'y  some 

feller  ought  to  fret — 
But  me,  I  'm  alway  singin'  de  only  song  I 

know — 
'T  is  n't  long  enough  for  music,  an'  so  short 

you  can't  forget, 
But  it  drive  away  de  lonesome,   an'  dis  is 

how  she  go, 

"Jus'    tak'    your    chance,    an'    try    your 
luck." 


Funny  feller's  w'at  dey  call  me — "so  diff'ren' 

from  de  res', " 
But  ev'rybody  got  hees  fault,  as  far  as  I  can 

see — 

An'  all  de  t'ing  I  'm  doin',  I  do  it  for  de  bes', 
Dough  w  'en  I  'm  bettin'   on  a  race,   dat  's 
offen  loss  for  me — 
297 


NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY 

"Oho!"    I   say,    "Alphonse   ma   frien',    to-day 

is  not  your  day, 
For  more  you  got  your  money  up,  de  less 

your  trotter  go — 
But  never  min'   an'   don't   lie  down, "    dat  's 

w'at  I  alway  say, 
An'  sing  de  sam'  ole  song  some  more,  mebbe 

a  leetle  slow — 
"Jus'  tak'  your  chance,  an'  try  your  luck." 


S'pose  ma  uncle  die  an'  lef  me  honder  dollar, 

mebbe  two — 
An'   I   don't  tak'  hees  advice — me — for  put 

heem  on  de  bank — 
'Stead  o'  dat,  some  lot'rie  ticket,  to  see  w'at 

I  can  do, 
An'  purty  soon  I  'm  findin'  out  dey  're  w'at 

you  call  de  blank — 
Wall!  de   bank   she   might    bus'    up    dere — 

somet'ing  might  go  wrong — 
Dem  feller,  w'en  dey  get  it,  mebbe  skip  before 

de  night — 
Can't  tell — den  w'ere  's  your  money?     So  I 

sing  ma  leetle  song 
An  I  don't  boder  wit'  de  w'isky,  an'  again   I 

feel  all  right, 

"Jus'  tak'  your  chance,  an'  try  your  luck." 
298 


NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY 

If  you  're  goin'  to  mak'  de  marry,  kip  a  look 

out  on  de  eye, 
But  no  matter  how  you  're  careful,  it  was 

risky  anyhow — 
An'    if    you  're    too    unlucky,    jus'    remember 

how  you  try 
For  gettin'  dat  poor  woman,  dough  she  may 

have  got  you  now — 
All  de  sam',  it  sometam  happen  dat  your  wife 

will  pass  away — 
No   use   cryin',    you    can't    help   it — dere  's 

your  duty  to  you'  se'f — 
You  don't  need  to  ax  de  neighbor,  dey  will  tell 

you  ev'ry  day 

Start  again  lak  hones'  feller,  for  dere  's  plain- 
tee  woman  lef — 
"Jus'  tak'  your  chance,  an'  try  your  luck. " 


•  Poor  man   lak  me,    I  'm   not 'ing:   only  w'en 

election  's  dere, 
An'  ev'rybody  's  waitin'  to  ketch  you  by  de 

t  'roat — 
De  money  I  be  makin'  den,  wall!  dat  was  mon 

affaire — 
An*  affer  all  w  'at  diff  'rence  how  de  poor  man 

mak'  de  vote? 

So  I  do  ma  very  bes' — me — wit*  de  wife  an' 
familee — 

299 


CHAMPLAIN 

On   de   church   door   Sunday   morning,    you 

can  see  us  all  parade — 
Len'  a  frien'  a  half  a  dollar,  an'  never  go  on 

spree — 
So  w'en  I  'm  comin'  die — me — no  use  to  be 

afraid — 
"Jus'  tak'  your  chance,  an'  try  your  luck." 

Champlain 

' 'ERE  '11  we  go?"  says  Pierre  de  Monts,* 

To  hese'f  as  he  walk  de  forwar'  deck, 
"For  I  got  ma  share  of  Trois  Rivieres 

An'  I  never  can  lak  Kebeck — 
Too    moche    Nort'     Pole — maudit !    it 's    cole 

Oh !  la !  la !  de  win'  blow  too. 
An'   I'm  sure  w'at  I  say,   M'sieu  Pontgrave 
He  know  very  well  it 's  true. 

"  But  here  's  de  boat,  an'  we  're  all  afloat 

A  honder  an'  fifty  ton — 
An'  look  at  de  lot  of  man  we  got, 

No  better  berieat'  de  sun — 
Provision,  too,  for  all  de  crew 

An'  pries'  for  to  say  de  prayer, 
So  mes  chers  amis,  dey  can  easy  see 

De  vessel  mus'  pass  somew'ere. 

*  De-mo. 

300 


CHAM  PLAIN 

"  If  I  only  know  de  way  to  go 

For  findin'  some  new  an'  pleasan'  Ian', " 
But  jus'  as  he  spik,  he  turn  roun'  quick, 

An'  dere  on  de  front,  sir,  stan'  de  Man. 
"You  was  callin'  me,  I  believe,"  says  he, 

As  brave  as  a  lion — "Tiens! 
Wen  we  reach  de  sea,  an'  de  ship  is  free, 

You  can  talk  wit'  Samuel  de  Champlain.  "* 


Wan  look  on  hees  eye  an'  he  know  for  w  ry 

Young  Samuel  spik  no  more, 
So  he  shake  hees  han',  an'  say,  "Young  man, 

Too  bad  you  don't  come  before; 
But  now  you  are  here,  we  '11  geev'  t  'ree  cheer, 

An'  away  w  'erever  you  want  to  go — 
For  I  lak  your  look  an'  swear  on  de  Book 

You  '11  fin'  de  good  frien'  on  Pierre  de  Monts.' 


So  de  sail 's  set  tight,  an'  de  win'  is  right, 

For  it 's  blowin'  dem  to  de  wes' — 
An'  dey  say  deir  prayer,  for  God  knows  w  'ere 

De  anchor  will  come  to  res' — 
Adieu  to  de  shore  dey  may  see  no  more — 

Good-bye  to  de  song  an'  dance — 
De  girl  dey  love,  an'  de  star  above 

Kipin'  watch  on  de  Ian'  of  France. 

*  Shaum-pla. 

301 


CHAMPLAIN 

Den    it's    "Come    below,    M'sieu    Pierre    de 
Monts," 

Champlain  he  say  to  de  capitaine — 
"An'  I  11  tell  to  you,  w'at  I  t'ink  is  true 

Dough  purty  hard,  too,  for  understan' — 
I  dream  a  dream  an'  it  alway  seem 

Dat  God  hese'f  he  was  say  to  me — 
4  Rise  up,  young  man,  de  quick  you  can 

An'  sail  your  ship  on  de  western  sea. 


' 'De  way  may  be  long,  an'  de  win'  be  strong, 

An'  wave  sweep  over  de  leetle  boat — 
But  never  you  min',  an'  you  're  sure  to  fin', 

If  you  trus'  in  me,  you  will  kip  afloat. ' 
An'  I  tak'  dat  ship,  an'  I  mak'  de  trip 

All  on  de  dream  I  was  tellin'  you — 
An'  oh !  if  you  see  w  'at  appear  to  me, 

I  wonder  w'at  you  was  a-t'inkin'  too? 


"I  come  on  de  Ian'  w'ere  dere  's  no  w'ite  man- 

I  come  on  de  shore  w'ere  de  grass  is  green- 
An'  de  air  is  clear  as  de  new-born  year, 

An'  of  all  I  was  see,  dis  Ian 's  de  Queen — 
So  I  'm  satisfy  if  we  only  try 

An'  fin'  if  dere  's  anyt'ing  on  ma  dream, 
An'  I  '11  show  de  way, "  Champlain  is  say — 

Den  Pierre  de  Monts  he  is  answer  heem, 
302 


CHAMPLAIN 

"All  right,  young  man,  do  de  bes'  you  can — 
So  long  you  don 't  bring  me  near  Kebeck — 

Or  Trois  Rivieres,  not  moche  I  care, 
An'  I  hope  your  dream  's  comin'  out  correc'." 

So   de   brave   Champlain   he   was   say,    "Ire's 
bien," 

An'  soon  he  was  boss  of  de  ship  an'  crew 

An'  pile  on  de  sail,  wedder  calm  or  gale — 
Oh !  dat  is  de  feller  know  w  'at  to  do. 

Don't  I  see  heem  dere  wit'  hees  long  black  hair 

On  de  win'  blowin1  out  behin' — 
Watchin'  de  ship  as  she  rise  an'  dip, 

An'  always  follerin'  out  de  Sign? 
An'  day  affer  day  I  can  hear  heem  say 

To   de   sailor  man   lonesome   for   home  an* 

frien', 
"Cheer  up,  mes  amis,  for  soon  you  will  see 

De  Ian'  risin'  up  on  de  oder  en'. " 

Wall !  de  tarn  go  by,  an'  still  dey  cry 

"Oh!  bring  us  back  for  de  familee's  sake." 
Even  Pierre  de  Monts  fin'  it  leetle  slow 

An'  t  'ink  mebbe  somebody  mak'  mistake — 
But  he  don't  geev'  in  for  he  's  boun'  to  win' — 

De  young  Champlain — an'  hees  heart  grow 

strong 
Wen  de  voice  he  hear  say,  "Never  fear; 

You  won't  have  to  suffer  for  very  long. " 
303 


CHAMPLAIN 

Alone  on  de  bow  I  can  see  heem  now 

Wan  mornin'  in  May  w'en  de  sun  was  rise — 
Smellin'  de  air  lak  a  bloodhoun',  dere — 

An'   de  light  of  de   Heaven  shine  on  hees 

eyes. 
A  minute  or  more  he  is  wait  before 

He  talc'  off  de  hat  an'  raise  hees  han' — 
Den  down  on  de  knee,  sayin',  "Dieu  merci!" 

He  cross  hese'f  dere,  an'  I  understan' — 

"Ho!    Ho!     De  Monts !  are  you  down  below, 

Sleepin'  so  soun'  on  de  bed  somew'ere? 
If  you  're  feelin  well,  come  up  an'  tell 

Wat  kin'  of  a  cloud  you  be  seein'  dere. " 
Den  every  wan  shout  w'en  de  voice  ring  out 

Of  de  young  Champlain  on  dat  summer  day, 
"Lan'!  it  is  Ian'!"  cry  de  sailor  man — 

You  can  hear  dem  holler  ten  mile  away. 

Port  Rossignol  is  de  place  dey  call 

(I  'm  sorry  dat  nam'  it  was  disappear) ; 
An'  mos'  ev'ry  tree  dem  Frenchman  see 

Got  nice  leetle  bird  singin',  "Welcome  here." 
An'  happy  dey  were,  dem  voyageurs 

An'  de  laugh  come  out  on  de  sailors'  face — 
No  wonder,  too,  w'en  de  shore  dey  view, 

For  w'ere  can  you  see  it  de  better  place? 


304 


PRO  PATRIA 

If  you  want  to  fin'  w'at  is  lef  behin' 
Of  de  story  I  try  very  hard  tell  you, 

Don't  bodder  me  now  or  raise  de  row, 
But  study  de  book  de  sam'  I  do. 

Pro  P atria 

S  leevin'  across  on  de  State  Vermont 
Were  mountain  so  high  you  see — 
Got  plaintee  to  do,  so  all  I  want 

Is  jus'  to  be  quiet — me — 
No  bodder,  no  fuss,  only  work  aroun* 

On  job  I  don't  lak  refuse — 
But  affer  de  familee  settle  down 
It 's  come  w'at  dey  call  war-news. 

De  Spanish  da-go  he  was  gettin'  mad, 

An'  he  's  dangerous  1'Espagnol ! 
An'  ev'ry  wan  say  it  was  lookin'  bad, 

Not  safe  on  de  State  at  all — 
So  Yankee  he  's  tryin'  for  sell  hees  farm, 

An'  town  's  very  moche  excite, 
Feexin'  de  gun  an'  de  fire-alarm, 

An'  ban'"  playin'  ev'ry  night. 

An'  soon  dere  's  comin',  all  dress  to  kill, 

Beeg  feller  from  far  away, 
Shoutin'  lak  devil  on  top  de  hill, 

An'  dis  is  de  t'ing  he  say — 


PRO  PATRIA 

"Strike  for  your  home  an'  your  own  contree! 

Strike  for  your  native  Ian' ! 

Kip  workin'  away  wit'  de  spade  an'  hoe, 

Den  jump  w'en  you  hear  de  bugle  blow, 

For  danger  's  aroun',  above,  below, 

But  de  bugle  will  tell  if  it 's  tam  to  go. " 

An'  he  tak'  de  flag  wit'  de  star  an'  stripe, 

An'  holler  out — "Look  at  me! 
If  any  wan  touch  dat  flag,  ba  cripe ! 

He  's  dead  about  wan — two — t'ree. " 
Den  he  pull  it  aroun'  heem  few  more  tam, 

An'  sit  on  de  rockin'  chair, 
Till  somebody  cheer  for  hees  Uncle  Sam, 

Dough  I  don't  see  de  ole  man  dere. 

I  got  a  long  story  for  tell  dat  night 

On  poor  leetle  Rose  Elmire, 
An'  she  say  she  's  sorry  about  de  fight 

We  're  doin'  so  well  down  here — 
But  it 's  not  our  fault  an'  we  can't  help  dat, 

De  law  she  is  made  for  all, 
So  our  duty  is  wait  for  de  rat-tat-tat 

Of  drum  an'  de  bugle  call. 

An'  it 's  busy  week  for  Elmire  an'  me, 

I  'm  sure  you  'd  pity  us  too — 
Workin'  so  hard  lak  you  never  see, 

For  dere  's  plaintee  o'  job  to  do — 
306 


PRO  PATRIA 

Den  half  o*  de  night  packin'  up  de  stuff 
We  got  on  de  small  cabane — 

An'  buyin'  a  horse,  dough  he  cos'  enough, 
For  Yankee  's  a  hard  trade  man. 


An'  how  can  I  sleep  if  ma  wife  yell  out — 

"Ge'de'on,  dere  she  goes!" 
An'  bang  an'  tear  all  de  house  about, 

Wen  Johnnie  is  blow  hees  nose? 
Poor  leetle  chil'ren  dey  suffer  too, 

Lyin'  upon  de  floor, 
Wit'  de  bed  made  up,  for  dey  never  go 

On  de  worl'  lak  dat  before. 


We  got  to  be  ready,  of  course,  an'  wait — 

De  chil'ren,  de  wife,  an'  me, 
For  show  de  Yankee  upon  de  State, 

Ba  Golly!  how  smart  we  be. 
You  know  de  game  dey  call  checker-boar'? 

Wall !  me  an'  ma  wife  Elmire, 
We  're  playin'  dat  game  on  de  outside  door 

Wit'  leetle  wan  gader  near; 


Jus'  as  de  sun  on  de  sky  go  down 
An'  mountain  dey  seem  so  fine, 

Ev'ryt'ing  quiet,  don't  hear  a  soun', 
So  I  'm  lookin'  across  de  line. 
307 


PRO  PATRIA 

•An'  I  t'ink  of  de  tarn  I  be  leevin'  dere 

On  county  of  Yamachiche, 
De  swamp  on  de  bush  w'ere  I  ketch  de  hare 

De  reever  I  use  to  feesh. 


An'  ma  wife  Elmire  w'en  she  see  de  tear, 

She  cry  leetle  bit  herse'f — 
Put  her  han'  on  ma  neck,  an'  say,  "Ma  dear, 

I  'm  sorry  we  never  lef ' ; 

But  money  's  good  t'ing,  an'  dere  's  nice  folk 
too, 

Leevin'  upon  Vermont — 
Oot  plaintee  o'  work  for  me  an'  you — 

Is  dere  anyt'ing  more  we  want? 

4'Dere  's  w'at  dey  're  callin'  de  war  beez-nesse — 

It  's  troublesome  t'ing,  of  course, 
But  no  gettin'  off — mus'  strike  wit'  de  res', 

No  matter — it  might  be  worse — 
We  're  savin'  along — never  lose  a  day, 

An'  ready  w'en  bugle  blow — •" 
But  dat  was  de  very  las'  word  she  say, 

For  dere  it  commence  to  go, 

Blowin'  away  on  de  mountain  dere, 

W'ere  snow  very  seldom  melts, 
Down  by  de  reever  an'  ev'ryw'ere, 

We  could  n't  hear  not'ing  else — 
308 


PRO  PATRIA 

Nobody  stop  to  fin'  out  de  place, 

Too  busy  for  dat  to-day — 
But  we  never  forget  de  law  in  de  case 

Wen  feller  he  spik  dis  way — 

"Strike  for  your  home  an'  your  own  contree! 

Strike  for  your  native  Ian' ! 

Kip  workin'  away  wit'  de  spade  an'  hoe, 

Den  jump  w'en  you  hear  de  bugle  blow, 

For  danger  's  aroun',  above,  below, 

But  de  bugle  will  tell  if  it 's  tam  to  go. " 

An'  de  chil'ren  yell,  an'  de  checker-boar* 

Don't  do  her  no  good  at  all — 
An'  nobody  never  jump  before 

Lak  de  crowd  w'en  dey  hear  de  call, 
Dat  was  de  familee, — bet  your  life 

I  'm  prouder,  ba  Gosh !  to-day 
Mese'f,  de  leetle  wan,  an'  de  wife, 

Dan  anyt'ing  I  can  say — 

'Cos  nobody  strike  on  de  way  we  do — 

For  home  an'  deir  own  contree — 
Wit'  fedder  bed,  stove,  de  cradle  too, 

An'  ev'ryt'ing  else  we  see — 
Pilin'  de  wagon  up  ten  foot  high 

Goin'  along  de  road — 
An'  de  Yankee  say  as  we  're  passin'  by 

Dey  never  see  such  a  load — 
309 


GETTING  STOUT 

So  dat  's  how  we  're  comin'  to  Yamachiche — 

An'  dat 's  w'y  we  're  stayin'  here — 
Jus'  to  be  quiet  an'  hunt  an'  feesh, 

Not'ing  at  all  to  fear — 
.An'  if  ever  you  lissen  de  Yankee  folk 

Brag  an'  kick  up  de  fuss — 
An'  say  we  're  lak  cattle  upon  de  yoke, 

An'  away  dey  can  trot  from  us — 


Jus'  tell  dem  de  news  of  Gede*on  Plouffe — 

How  he  jump  wit'  de  familee 
An'  strike  w'en  de  bugle  is  raise  de  roof 

For  home  an'  hees  own  contree. 


Getting  Stout 

EIGHTEEN,   an'   face    lak    de— w'at  's   de 
good? 

Dere  's  no  use  tryin'  explain 
De  way  she  's  lookin',  dat  girl  Marie — 

But  affer  it  pass,  de  rain, 
An'  sun  come  out  of  de  cloud  behin', 

An'  laugh  on  de  sky  wance  more — 
Wall !  dat  is  de  way  her  eye  it  shine 

W'en  she  see  me  upon  de  door. 
310 


GETTING  STOUT 

An'  dere  she  's  workin'  de  ole-tam  sash, 

De  fines'  wan,  too,  for  sure. 
"Who  is  it  for,  ma  belle  Marie — 

You  're  makin'  de  nice  ceinture? 
Come  out  an'  sit  on  de  shore  below, 

For  watchin'  dem  draw  de  net, 
Ketchin'  de  feesh, "  an'  she  answer,  "No,. 

De  job  is  n't  finish  yet; 


"Stan*  up,  Narcisse,  an'  we  '11  see  de  fit. 

Dat  sash  it  was  mak'  for  you, 
For  de  ole  wan  's  gettin'  on,  you  know, 

An'  o'  course  it  '11  never  do 
If  de  boy  I  marry  can't  go  an  spen' 

Wat  dey  're  callin'  de  weddin'  tour 
Wit'  me,  for  visitin'  all  hees  frien', 

An'  not  have  a  nice  ceinture." 


An'  den  she  measure  dat  sash  on  me, 

An'  I  fin'  it  so  long  an'  wide 
I  pass  it  aroun'  her,  an'  dere  we  stan', 

De  two  of  us  bote  inside — 
"Could  n't  be  better,  ma  chere  Marie, 

Dat  sash  it  is  fit  so  well — 
It  jus'  suit  you,  an'  it  jus'  suit  me, 

An'  bote  togeder,  ma  belle." 
3" 


GETTING  STOUT 

So  I  wear  it  off  on  de  weddin'  tour 

An'  long  affer  dat  also, 
An'  never  a  minute  I  'm  carin'  how 

De  win'  of  de  winter  blow — 
Don't  matter  de  cole  an'  frosty  night — 

Don't  matter  de  stormy  day, 
So  long  as  I  'm  feex  up  close  an'  tight 

Wit'  de  ole  ceinture  fleche. 


An'  w'ere  's  de  woman  can  beat  her  now, 

Ma  own  leetle  girl  Marie? 
For  we  're  marry  to-day  jus'  feefty  year 

An'  never  a  change  I  see — 
But  wan  t'ing  strange,  dough  I  try  ma  bes' 

For  measure  dat  girl  wance  more, 
She  say — "Go  off  wit'  de  foolishness, 

Or  pass  on  de  outside  door. 


"You  know  well  enough  dat  sash  get  tight 

Out  on  de  snow  an'  wet 
Drivin'  along  on  ev'ry  place, 

Den  how  can  it  fit  me  yet? 
Shows  w'at  a  fool  you  be,  Narcisse, 

W'enever  you  go  to  town; 
Better  look  out,  or  I  call  de  pries' 

For  makin'  you  stan'  aroun'." 
312 


DOCTOR  HILAIRE 

But  me,  I  'm  sure  it  was  never  change, 

Dat  sash  on  de  feefty  year — 
An'  I  can't  understan'  to-day  at  all, 

Wat  's  makin'  it  seem  so  queer — 
De  sash  is  de  sam',  an'  woman  too, 

Can't  fool  me,  I  know  too  well — 
But  woman,  of  course  dey  off  en  do 

Some  funny  t'ing — you  can't  tell ! 

Doctor  Hilaire 

A    STRANGER  might   say   if   he   see  heem 

drink  till  he  almos'  fall, 
"Doctor  lak  dat  for  sick  folk,  he's  never  no 

use  at  all, " 
But  wait  till  you  hear  de  story  dey  're  tellin* 

about  heem  yet, 

An'   see  if  you  don't  hear  somet'ing,   mebbe 
you  won't  forget. 

Twenty  odd  year  she  's  marry.  Belzemire  La- 

freniere, 
An'  oh!  but  she  's  feelin'  lonesome  'cos  never 

a  sign  is  dere — 
Purty   long   tarn   for   waitin',    but   poor   leetle 

Belzemire 
She  's  bad  enough  now  for  pay  up  all  of  dem 

twenty  year. 


DOCTOR  HILAIRE 

Call    heem    de    oldes'    doctor,    call    heem    de 

younges'  wan, 
Bring  dem  along,  no  matter  if  ev'ry  dollar  's 

gone — 
Tree  of  dem  can't  do  not'ing,  workin'  for  two 

days  dere, 
She   was   a   very  sick  woman,   Belzemire  La- 

freniere. 


Pierre  he  was  cryin',   cryin'   out  on  de  barn 

behin', 
Neighbors  tryin'  to  kip  heem  goin'  right  off 

hees  min', 
Wen  somebody  say,  "Las'  winter,  ma  wife  she 

is  nearly  go, 
An'  who  do  you  t'ink  is  save  her?  ev'ry  wan 

surely  know. 


"Drink?  does  he  drink  de  w'isky?  don't  care 

I  'm   hees   only  frien', 
Dere  's  only  wan  answer  comin',  Wall!  leetle 

bit  now  an'  den 
Doctor  Hilaire  he  tak'  it,  but  if  it  was  me  or 

you 
Leevin'  on  Beausejour  dere,  w'at  are  you  goin' 

to  do? 

3H 


DOCTOR  HILAIRE 

"An'     so     you    may    t'ank    de    w'isky,    'cos 

w'ere  '11  he  be  to-day 
If  he  never  is  drinkin'  not'ing?     Many  a  mile 

away 
Off  on  de  great  beeg  city,  makin'  de  money 

quick, 
W'ere  ev'ry  wan  want  de  doctor  w'enever  he  's 

leetle  sick. 


"Remember  de  way  to  get  heem  is  tell  heem 

it's  bad,  bad  case, 
Or  Doctor  Hilaire  you  '11  never  see  heem  upon 

dis  place! 
Tell  heem  dere  's  two  life  waitin',  an'  sure   to 

be  comin'  die 
Unless  he  is  hurry  quicker  dan  ever  de  bird  can 

fly. 


"T'orty  mile  crick  is  runnin'  over  de  road,  I  'm 

sure, 
But  if  you  can  fin'   de  crossin'  you  '11  ketch 

heem  at  Beausejour. 
Sober  or  drunk,  no  matter,  bring  heem  along 

you  mus', 
For  Doctor  Hilaire  's  de  only  man  of  de  lot  for 

us." 

315 


DOCTOR  HILAIRE 

Out  wit'  de  quickes'  horse  den,  Ste.  Genevieve 

has   got, 
An'  if  ever  you  show  your  paces,  now  is  de  tarn 

to  trot — 
Johnnie  Dufresne  is  drivin',  w'at!  never  hear 

tell  of  heem, 
Off  on  de  Yankee  circus,  an'  han'le  a  ten-horse 

team? 


Dat  was  de  lonesome  journey  over  de  moun- 
tain high, 

Down  w'ere  de  w'ite  fog  risin'  show  w'ere  de 
swamp  is  lie, 

An'  drive  as  he  can  de  faster,  an'  furder  away 
he  get 

Johnnie  can  hear  dat  woman  closer  an'  closer 
yet. 


Offen  he  tell  about  it,  not'ing  he  never  do 
Geev'  heem  de  funny   feelin'  Johnnie  is  goin* 

t'roo, 
But  he  is  sure  of  wan  t'ing,   if  Belzemire  's 

comin'  die, 
Poor  woman,  she  'd  never  foller  affer  heem  wit' 

her  cry. 

316 


DOCTOR  HILAIRE 

Dat  is   de  t'ing  is  cheer  heem,   knowin'   she 

is  n't   gone, 
So  he  answer  de  voice  a-callin',  tellin'  her  to 

hoi'  on, 
Till  he  bring  her  de  help  she  's  needin'  if  only 

she  wait  a  w'ile 
Dat  is  de  way  he  's  doin'  all  of  dem  t'orty 

mile — 


Lucky  he  was  to-night,   too,  for  place  on  de 

crick   he   got, 
Search   on  de  light  of    day-tarn,  he   could  n't 

fin'  better  spot, 
But  jus'   as  it  happen',    mebbe   acre   or   two 

below, 
Is  place  w'ere  de  ole  mail-driver  's  drownin' 

a  year  ago. 


Were  is  de    road?    he  got    it,  an'  very  soon 

B  cause  jour 
Off  on  de  hillside  lyin',  dere  she  is,  small  an' 

poor, 
Lookin'  so  lak  starvation  might  a'  been  t'roo 

de  war, 
An'  dere,  on  de  bar-room  sleepin',  de  man  he  is 

lookin'  for. 


DOCTOR  HILAIRE 

Drunk?  he  is  worse  dan  ever — poor  leetle  man ! 

too  bad! 
Lissen  to  not'ing  neider,  but  Johnnie  is  feel  so 

glad 
Ketchin'    heem    dere  so    easy,   'fore    he    can 

answer,  "No" — 
He  's  tyin'  heem  on  de  buggy,  an'  off  on  de 

road  he  go — 


Half  o'  de  journey  's  over,  half   o'  de  night  is 

pass, 
Wen  Doctor  Hilaire  stop  swearin',  an  start  to 

get  quiet  at  las' — • 
Don't  do  any  good  ax  Johnnie  lettin'  heem 

loose  again, 
For  if  any  man  tak'  de  chances,  would  n't  be 

Johnnie  Dufresne. 


Hooraw  for  de  black  horse  trotter!  hooraw  for 

de  feller  drive! 
An'  wan  leetle  cheer  for  Belzemire  dat  's  kipin' 

herse'f  alive 
Till  Johnnie  is  bring  de  doctor,  an'  carry  heem 

on  de  door 
An'  loosen  heem  out  as  sober  as  never  he  was 

before. 

318 


DOCTOR  HILAIRE 

Quiet  inside  de  house  now,   quiet  de  outside 

too, 
Look  at  each  oder  smokin',  dat  's  about  all  we 

do; 
An'  jus'  as  we  feel,  ba  tender!  no  use,  we  mus' 

talk  or  die, 
Dere  on   de  house  we  're  hearin'   poor  leetle 

baby's  cry. 


Dat 's  all,  but  enough  for  makin'  tear  comin' 

down  de  face, 
An'  Pierre,  if  you  only  see  heem  jumpin'  aroun' 

de  place 
You  'd  t'ink  of  a  colt  in  spring-tarn — den  off 

on  de  barn  we  go 
Were  somebody  got  de  bottle  for  drinkin'  de 

healt',  you  know. 


Takin'  it  too  moche  w'isky,  is  purty  hard  job 

to  cure, 
But  only  for  poor  ole  w'isky,  village  of  Beau- 

sejour 
Can  never  have  such  a  doctor,  an'  dat 's  w'y  it 

ain't  no  tarn 
Talk  very  moche  agin  it,  but  fill  her  up  jus'  de 

sam'. 

319 


BARBOTTE  (BULL-POUT) 

An'  drink  to  de  baby's  moder,  here  's  to  de 

baby  too, 
An'  Doctor  Hilaire,  anoder,  beeger  dan  all,  for 

you. 
For  sober  or  drunk,  no  matter,  so  long  as  he 

understan' 
It 's  very  bad  case  is  waitin',  Doctor  Hilaire  's 

de  man. 

Barbotte   (Bull-pout} 

r\ERE  's  some  lak  dory,  an'  some  lak  bass, 

An'  plaintee  dey  mus'  have  trout — 
An*  w'ite  feesh  too,  dere  's  quite  a  few 

Not  satisfy  do  widout — 
Very  fon'  of  sucker  some  folk  is,  too, 

But  for  me,  you  can  go  an'  cut 
De  w'ole  of  dem  t'roo  w'at  you  call  menu, 
So  long  as  I  get  barbotte — 

Ho !  Ho !  for  me  it 's  de  nice  barbotte. 

No  fuss  to  ketch  heem — no  row  at  all, 

De  sam'  as  you  have  wit'  bass — • 
Never  can  tell  if  you  hook  heem  well, 

An'  mebbe  he  's  gone  at  las' ! 
An'  trout,  wall!  any  wan  's  ketchin'  trout 

Dey  got  to  be  purty  smart — 
But  leetle  bull-pout,  don't  have  to  look  out, 

For  dem  feller  got  no  heart — 

Good  t'ing,   dey  ain't  got  no  heart. 
320 


BARBOTTE  (BULL-POUT) 

Dat  's  wan  of  de  reason  I  lak  heem  too — 

For  all  you  have  got  to  do 
Is  takin'  your  pole  on  de  feeshin'  hole 

An'  anchor  de  ole  canoe — 
Den  spit  on  de  worm  for  luck,  an'  pass 

De  leetle  hook  up  de  gut, 
An'  drop  it  down  slow,  jus'  a  minute  or  so, 

An'  pull  up  de  nice  barbotte, 

Ha !  Ha !  de  fine  leetle  fat  barbotte. 

Pleasan'  to  lissen  upon  de  spring 

De  leetle  bird  sing  hees  song, 
Wile  you  watch  de  line  an'  look  out  for  sign 

Of  mooshrat  swimmin'  along ; 
Den  tak'  it  easy  an'  smoke  de  pipe, 

An'  w'ere  is  de  man  has  got 
More  fun  dan  you  on  de  ole  canoe 

Wen  dey  're  bitin',  de  nice  barbotte — 

De  nice  leetle  fat  barbotte, 

No  runnin'   aroun'   on  de  crick  for  heem, 

No  jompin'  upon  de  air, 
Makin'  you  sweat  till  your  shirt  is  wet 

An'  sorry  you  're  comin'  dere — 
Foolin'  away  wit'  de  rod  an'  line 

Mebbe  de  affernoon — 
For  sure  as  he  bite  he  's  dere  all  right, 

An'  you  're  ketchin'  heem  very  soon — 

Yass  sir!  you  're  gettin'  heem  purty  soon. 

21  321 


THE  ROSSIGNOL 

Den  tak'  heem  off  home  wit'  a  dozen  more 

An'  skin  heem  so  quick  you  can. 
Fry  heem  wit'  lard,  an'  you  '11  fin'  it  hard 

To  say  if  dere  's  on  de  pan 
Such  feesh  as  dat  on  de  worl'  before 

Since  Adam,  you  know,  is  shut 
Out  of  de  gate  w'en  he  's  comin'  home  late, 

As  de  nice  leetle  fat  barbotte — 

Dat 's  true,  de  nice  leetle  sweet  barbotta 


The  Rossignol 

Air — "  Sur  la  Montagne  " 

JUS'  as  de  sun  is  tryin' 
Climb  on  de  summer  sky 
Two  leetle  bird  come  flyin' 

Over  de  mountain  high — 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 
Hear  dem  call, 
Hear  dem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol! 

Out  of  de  nes'  togeder, 

Broder  an'  sister  too, 
Out  on  de  summer  wedder 

W'en  de  w'ole  worl'  is  new — 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 
Hear  dem  call, 

Hear  dem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol ! 
322 


No  leetle  heart  was  lighter, 

No  leetle  bird  so  gay, 
Never  de  sun  look  brighter 

Dan  he  is  look  to-day — 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 
Hear  dem  call, 
Hear  dem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol ! 

Wy  are  dey  leave  de  nes'  dere 
Were  dey  was  still  belong? 

Better  to  stay  an'  res'  dere 
Until  de  wing  is  strong. 

Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 

Hear  dem  call, 

Hear  dem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol. 

Wat  is  dat  watchin'  dere  now 

Up  on  de  maple  tall, 
Better  look  out,  tak'  care  now, 

Poor  leetle  rossignol, 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 
Hear  dem  call, 
Hear  dem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol ! 

Here  dey  are  comin'  near  heem 

Singin'  deir  way  along — 
How  can  dey  know  to  fear  heem 

Poor  leetle  bird  so  young — 
323 


THE  ROSSIGNOL 

Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 

Hear  dem  call, 

Hear  dem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol ! 

Moder  won't  hear  you  cryin', 

Wat  is  de  use  to  call, 
Wen  he  is  comin'  flyin' 

Quick  as  de  star  is  fall? 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 
Hear  dem  call, 
Hear  dem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol ! 


Up  w'ere  de  nes'  is  lyin', 

High  on  de  cedar  bough, 
Were  de  young  hawk  was  cryin' 

Soon  will  be  quiet  now. 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 
Hear  heem  call, 
Hear  heem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol! 

If  he  had  only  kissed  her, 

Poor  leetle  rossignol ! 
But  he  was  los'  hees  sister, 

An'  it 's  alone  he  call — 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 
Hear  heem  call, 

Hear  heem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol ! 
324 


MEB-BE 

Only  a  day  of  gladness, 

Only  a  day  of  song, 
Only  a  night  of  sadness 

Lastin'  de  w'ole  life  long. 
Over  de  mountain,  over  de  mountain, 
Hear  heem  call, 
Hear  heem  call — poor  leetle  rossignol ! 

Meb-be 

A    QUIET  boy  was  Joe  Bedotte, 

An'  no  sign  anw'ere 
Of  anyt'ing  at  all  he  got 

Is  up  to  ordinaire — 
An'  w'en  de  teacher  tell  heem  go 

An'  tak'  a  holiday, 
For  wake  heem  up,  becos'  he  's  slow, 
Poor  Joe  would  only  say, 

"Wall!meb-be." 


Don't  bodder  no  wan  on  de  school 

Unless  dey  bodder  heem, 
But  all  de  scholar  t'ink  he  's  fool 

Or  walkin'  on  a  dream — 
So  w'en  dey  re  closin'  on  de  spring 

Of  course  dey  're  moche  surprise 
Dat  Joe  is  takin'  ev'ryt'ing 

Of  w'at  you  call  de  prize. 
325 


MEB-BE 

An'  den  de  teacher  say,  "Joseph, 

I  know  you  're  workin'  hard — 
Becos'  w'en  I  am  pass  mese'f 

I  see  you  on  de  yard 
A-splittin'  wood — no  doubt  you  stay 

An'  study  half  de  night?" 
An'  Joe  he  spik  de  sam'  ole  way 

So  quiet  an'  polite, 

"Wall!meb-be.! 


Hees  fader  an'  hees  moder  die 

An'  lef  heem  dere  alone 
Wit'  chil'ren  small  enough  to  cry, 

An'  farm  all  rock  an'  stone — 
But  Joe  is  fader,  moder  too, 

An'  work  bote  day  an'  night 
An'  clear  de  place — dat  's  w'at  he  do, 

An'  bring  dem  up  all  right. 

De  Cure*  say,  "  Jo-seph,  you  know 

Le  bon  Dieu  's  very  good — 
He  feed  de  small  bird  on  de  snow, 

De  caribou  on  de  wood — 
But  you  deserve  some  credit  too — 

I  spik  of  dis  before. " 
So  Joe  he  dunno  w'at  to  do 

An'  only  say  wance  more, 

"Wall!meb-be." 
326 


SNUBBING  THE  RAFT 

An'  Joe  he  leev'  for  many  year 

An'  helpin'  ev'ry  wan 
Upon  de  parish  far  an'  near 

Till  all  hees  money  's  gone — 
An'  den  de  Cure  come  again 

Wit'  tear-drop  on  hees  eye — 
He  know  for  sure  poor  Joe,  hees  frien', 

Is  well  prepare  to  die. 


"Wall!  Joe,  de  work  you  done  will  tell 

W'en  you  get  up  above — 
De  good  God  he  will  treat  you  well 

An'  geev'  you  all  hees  love. 
De  poor  an'  sick  down  here  below, 

I  'm  sure  dey  '11  not  forget, " 
An'  w'at  you  t'ink  he  say,  poor  Joe, 

Drawin'  hees  only  breat'? 

"Wall!meb-be.' 


Snubbing  (Tying-up)  the  Raft 

AS'  night  dey  're  passin',  de  golden  plover, 
Dis    mornin'    I  'm    seein'     de    bluebird's 

wing, 

So  if  not'ing  go  wrong,  de  winter  's  over, 
An'  not  very  long  till  we  got  de  spring. 
327 


SNUBBING  THE  RAFT 

An'  nex'  t'ing  de  reever  she  '11  start  a-hummin', 
An'  den  you  '11  hear  it,  de  song  an'  laugh, 

Is  teilin'  de  news,  de  boys  are  comin' 
Home  again  on  de  saw-log  raf. 

All  very  well  for  see  dem  swingin' 
Roun*  de  beeg  islan'  dere  on  de  bay, 

Nice  t'ing  too,  for  to  hear  dem  singin', 
'Cos  it  mak'  me  t'ink  of  de  good  ole  day. 

An'  me — I  could  lissen  dem  song  forever, 
But  it  is  n't  so  pleasan'  w'en  evenin'  fall, 

An'  dey  're  lookin'  for  place  to  stay,  an'  never 
Snub  de  raf  on  ma  place  at  all — 

Dat  's  de  fine  cove  if  dey  only  know  it — 
Hard  to  fin'  better  on  St.  Maurice, 

Up  de  reever  or  down  below  it, 

An'  house  on  de  hill  only  leetle  piece. 

Wat  is  de  reason  den,  w'en  dey  fin'  dem 
Raf  comin'  near  me,  dey  all  get  scare, 

An'  pull  lak  de  devil  was  close  behin'  dem, 
An'  way  down  de  reever  to  Joe  Belair? 

Two  mile  more,  wit'  de  rock  an'  stone  dere, 
An'  water  so  shallow  can't  float  canoe, 

But  ev'ry  boy  of  de  gang,  he  's  goin'  dere, 
Even  de  cook,  an'  de  captain  too — 
328 


SNUBBING  THE  RAFT 

Wat  is  de  reason,  I  lak  to  know — me — 
Ma  own  leetle  cove  's  lyin  empty  dere, 

An'  nobody  stop  till  dey  go  below  me, 
Snubbin'  de  raf  on  Joe  Belair? 

Not'ing  lak  dat  twenty  year  ago,  sir, 
Wen  voyageurs'  comin'  from  up  above, 

Dere  's  only  wan  place  us  feller  know,  sir, 
Wen  dey  're  goin'  ashore,  an'  dat 's  de  cove. 

An'  dere  on  door  of  de  house  she  's  stannin' 
To  welcome  us  back,  Madame  Baribeau, 

An'  Pierre  hese'f,  he  was  on  de  lannin', 
Ready  for  ketchin'  de  rope  we  t'row. 

An'  oh!  de  girl  use  to  mak'  us  crazy — 
For  many  a  fine  girl  Pierre  has  got— 

Right  on  de  jomp  too — never  lazy, 
But  Sophie  's  de  fines'  wan  of  de  lot. 

Me — I  was  only  a  common  feller, 
An'  love — wall !  jus'  lak  de  leetle  calf, 

An  it 's  true,  I  'm  sure,  w'at  dey  often  tell  her, 
I  'm  de  uglies'  man  on  boar'  de  raf. 

But  Sophie  's  so  nice  an'  good  shese'f  too, 

De  uglies'  man  upon  all  de  worl' 
Forget  hees  face  an'  forget  hese'f  too, 

T'ree  minute  affer  he  see  dat  girl — 
329 


SNUBBING  THE  RAFT 

An'  dat  's  de  reason  de  chance  is  better, 

For  you  must  n't  be  t'ink  of  you'  se'f  at  all, 

But  t'ink  of  de  girl  if  you  want  to  get  her 
An'  so  we  're  marry  upon  de  fall. 

An'  purty  soon  den  dey  all  get  started, 
For  marryin'  fever  come  so  strong 

Wen   de  firse  wan    go,    dat    dey  're    broken- 
hearted 
An'  tak'  mos'  anyt'ing  come  along. 

So  Joe  Belair,  w'en  hees  house  is  buil'  dere, 
He  go  down  de  reever  wit'  Eugenie, 

An'  place  I  settle  on  top  de  hill  dere, 
De  ole  man  geev'  it  to  Sophie  an'  me. 

An'  along  dey  come,  wan  foller  de  oder, 

Dozen  o'  girl — not  a  boy  at  all — 
Never  a  girl  tak'  affer  de  moder, 

But  all  lak  de  fader,  beeg  an'  small — 

A  dozen  o'  girl,  of  course,  no  wonder 
A  few  of  dem  look  lak  me — sapree ! 

But  w'en  dey  're  comin'  dat  way,  ba  tonder! 
She  's  jus'  a  leetle  too  moche  for  me. 

An'  Joe  Belair,  he  was  down  below  me, 

Funny  t'ing  too,  he  is  ketch  also, 
Ev'ryt'ing  girl — how  it  come  dunno — me — 

But  dey  're  all  lak  de  familee  Baribeau — 
330 


.SNUBBING  THE  RAFT 

Growin'  up  purty  de  sam'  de  moder — 
An'  soon  as  dey  know  it  along  de  shore 

De  boys  stop  comin'  an'  never  bodder 
For  snub  de  raf  on  ma  place  no  more — 

So  w'at  is  de  chance  ma  girl  she  's  gettin', 
Don't  care  w'ere  I  look,  none  at  all  I  see, 

No  use,  I  s'pose,  kipin'  on  a-frettin', 

Dough  it 's  very  hard  case  poor, man  lak  me. 

W'at  '11  I  do  for  bring  dem  here, — me? 

Can't  be  blowin'  dem  to  de  moon — 
Or  buil'  a  dam  on  de  reever  near  me 

For  fear  we  're  sure  to  be  drownin'  soon. 

To-night  I  can  hear  hees  darn  ole  fiddle, 

Playin'  away  on  Joe  Belair — 
Can  hear  heem  holler,  ' '  Pass  down  de  middle 

An'  dance  on  your  partner  over  dere. " 

Pleasan'  t'ing  too,  for  to  smell  de  w'isky 
Off  on  de  leetle  back  room — ba  oui — 

Helpin'  de  ole  folk  mak'  dem  frisky, 

Very  pleasan'  for  dem,  but  not  for  me — 

Oh !  it  mak'  me  mad,  an'  I  'm  tire  tryin' 
To  show  how  I  feel,  an'  it  's  hard  to  tell — 

So  I  '11  geev'  it  up,  for  dere  's  no  good  cryin' ; 
'Sides  w'at  is  de  use  of  a  two-mile  smell? 
33i 


A  RAINY  DAY  IN  CAMP 

Non! — I  don't  go  dere  if  dey  all  invite  me, 
Or  de  worl'  itse'f — she  come  to  an'  en'. 

De  Bishop  hese'f ,  ba  Gosh !  can  write  me, 
But  Jo-seph  Belair,  he  's  no  more  ma  frien'. 


Can't  fin'  me  dere  if  de  sky  come  down,  sir, 
I  rader  ma  girl  she  would  never  dance — 

But  far  away,,  off  on  de  Yankee  town,  sir, 

I  '11  tak'  dem  w'ere  mebbe  dey  have  a  chance. 


An'    reever   an'    cove,    dough   I  '11   not  forget 
dem, 

An'  voyageurs  too,  an'  Joe  Belair, 
Can  do  w'at  dey  lak,  an'  me — I  '11  let  dem 

Go  w'ere  dey  want  to,  for  I  don't  care. 


A  Rainy  Day  in  Camp 

A  RAINY  day  in  camp !  how  you  draw  the 

blankets   closer, 
As   the   big     drops   patter,     patter   on   the 

shingles  overhead, 
How  you  shudder  when   recalling   your  wife's 

"You   ought  to   know,  sir, 
That  it 's  dangerous  and  improper  to  smoke 
a  pipe  in  bed." 

332 


A  RAINY  DAY  IN  CAMP 

A  rainy  day  in  camp!  is  it  possible  to  find 

better? 
Tho'  the  lake  is  like  a  caldron,  and  aloft  the 

thunder  rolls ; 
Yet  the  old  canoe  is  safely  on  the  shore  where 

you  can  let  her 

Stay  as  long  as  Jupiter  Pluvius  in  the  clouds 
is  punching  holes. 


A  rainy  day  in  camp!  and  the  latest  publica- 
tion 
That  the  mice  have  left  unnibbled,  tells  you 

all  about  "Eclipse," 
How  the  Derby  fell  before  him,  how  he  beat 

equine  creation, 

But  the  story  yields  to  slumber  with  the  pipe 
between  your  lips. 


Wake  again  and  turn  the  pages,  where  they 

speak  of  Lester  Wallack 
And  the  heroes  of  the  buskin  over  thirty 

years  ago- — 
Then  in  case  the  damp  surroundings  cause  an 

inconvenient  colic, 

What 's  the  matter  with  the  treatment  neu- 
tralizing II 2  O? 

333 


A  RAINY  DAY  IN  CAMP 

A  rainy  day  in  camp!  what  an  interesting  col- 
lection, 
In  this  magazine  so  ancient,  of  items  small 

and  great — 
The  History  of  the  Negro,  illustrating  every 

section, 

So  different  from  the  present  White  House 
Colored  Fashion  Plate ! 


A  rainy  day  in  camp !  and  you  wonder  how  the 

C.  P. 
And  the  G.   T.   competition  will  affect  the 

Golden  West— 
But   these  problematic  matters  only  tend  to 

make  you  sleepy, 

And  again  beneath  the  blankets,  like  a  babe 
you  sink  to  rest. 


Cometh  now  the  giant  moose  heads,  that  no 

eye  of  man  can  number — • 
Every  rain-drop  on  the  roof-tree  is  a  plung- 
ing three-pound  trout-r- 
Till  u  musk  ox  in  a  snow-drift  turns  and  butts 

you  out  of  slumber, 

And  you  wake  to  hear  Bateese  say,  "Dat  's 
too  bad,  de  fire  's  gone  out. " 
334 


JOSETTE 

A  rainy  night  in  camp!  with  the  blazing  logs 

before  us, 
Let  the  wolf  howl  in  the  forest  and  the  loon 

scream  on  the  lake, 

Turn  them  loose,  the  wild  performers  of  Na- 
ture's Opera  Chorus 

And  ask  if  Civilization  'can  sweeter  music 
make. 

Josette 

T  SEE  Josette  on  de  car  to-day, 

Leetle  Josette  Couture, 
An'  it 's  easy  tellin'  she  's  been  away 

On  market  of  Bonsecour — 
'Cos  dere  's  de  blueberry  on  de  pail 

Wit'  more  t'ing  lyin'  about — 
An'  dere  's  de  basket  wit'  de  tail 

Of  de  chicken  stickin'  out. 

Ev'ry  conductor  along  de  road 

Help  her  de  bes'  he  can, 
An'  I  see  dem  sweat  wit'  de  heavy  load, 

Many  a  beeg,  strong  man — 
But  it  's  differen'  t'ing  w'en  she  tak'  hoi', 

Leavin'  dem  watchin'  dere — 
For  wedder  de  win'  blow  hot  or  cole 

Josette  never  turn  a  hair. 
335 


JOSETTE 

Wonderful  woman  for  seexty-five — 

Smart  leetle  woman  sure! 
An'  if  he  's  wan  tin'  to  kip  alive 

On  church  of  de  Bonsecour 
De  pries'  he  mus'  rise  'fore  de  rooster  crow, 

Or  mebbe  he  '11  be  too  late 
For  seein'  dere  on  de  street  below, 

Josette  comin'  in  de  gate. 


An'  half  of  de  mornin'  she  don't  spen'  dere 

Hangin'  aroun'  de  pew — 
Bodderin'  God  wid  de  long,  long  prayer — 

For  bote  of  dem  got  to  do 
Plaintee  work  'fore  de  day  's  gone  byr 

An'  well  she  know — Josette — 
No  matter  how  busy  an'  hard  she  try, 

De  work  's  never  finish  yet. 


An'  well  he  know  it,  de  habitant, 

Who  is  it  ketch  heem,  w'en 
He  's  drivin'  along  from  St.  Laurent — 

For  it 's  easier  bargain  den — 
'Cos  if  de  habitant  only  sole 

De  whole  of  hees  load  dat  way — 
Of  course  he  's  savin'  de  market  toll 

An'  not'ing  at  all  to  pay. 
336 


JOE  BOUCHER 

Dey  call  her  ole  maid,  but  I  can't  tell — me — 

De  cmTren  she  has  got : 
No  fader,  no  moder,  dat  's  way  dey  be — 

You  never  see  such  a  lot — 
An'  if  you  ax  how  she  fin'  de  clothes 

An'  food  for  de  young  wan  dere — 
She  say:  "Wit'  de  help  of  God,  I  s'pose 

An'  de  leetle  shop  down  stair." 

Comin'  an'  goin'  mos'  all  de  tarn, 

Helpin'  dem  all  along, 
Jus'  lak  de  ole  sheep  watch  de  lamb 

Till  dey  are  beeg  an'  strong — 
Not'ing  lak  dat  I  be  seein'  yet, 

An'  it 's  hard  to  beat  for  sure — • 
So  dat  's  de  reason  dey  call  Josette 

Leetle  Sister  of  de  poor. 

Joe  Boucher 

Air — "  Car  si  man  moine." 

JOE  BOUCHER  was  a  frien'  of  mine, 
Joe  Boucher  was  a  happy  man, 
Till  he  tell  a  young  girl  he  'd  lak  to  fin' 

Some  nice  leetle  wife  for  hees  new  cabane. 
Now  he  's  los'  hees  life  too, 
All  on  account  of  de  wife  too, 
An'  I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  'bout  dat  poor  feller. 
I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  for  Joe  Boucher. 
"  337 


JOE  BOUCHER 

De  nam'  dat  girl  she  's  Azeel-daw, 

An'  party  good  worker,  too,  dey  say — 

She  don't  lose  chance  for  a  brave  gargon, 
An'  so  she  marry  Joe  Boucher. 

Now  he  's  los'  hees  life  too, 

All  on  account  of  de  wife  too, 

An'  I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  'bout  dat  poor  feller* 

I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  for  Joe  Boucher. 


Den  off  on  de  wood  poor  Joe  he  lef ', 

An'  w'en  he  's  home  wit'  de  bird  in  spring,. 
An'  fin'  leetle  feller  jus'  lak  hese'f . 

Mebbe  Joe  don't  dance  an'  Joe  don't  sing! 
Now  he  's  los'  hees  life  too, 
All  on  account  of  hees  wife  too, 
An'  I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  'bout  dat  poor  feller,. 
I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  for  Joe  Boucher. 


Dat 's  all  very  well  till  de  fall  come  along, 
An'  Joe  got  to  go  on  de  bush  encore, 

But  w'en  he  come  back  he  sing  no  song, 
For  dere  was  two  leetle  baby  more. 

Now  he 's  los'  hees  life  too, 

All  on  account  of  de  wife  too, 

An   I   know   you  '11   be   sorry   'bout   dat   poor 
feller, 

I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  for  Joe  Boucher. 
338 


JOE  BOUCHER 

He  don't  say  not'ing,  but  he  t'ink  beeg  lot, 
An'  won't  tak'  a  drink  for  two,  t'ree  day, 

But  not  moche  money  poor  Joe  he  got, 
So  off  on  de  reever  he  's  goin'  away. 

Now  he  's  IDS'  hees  life  too, 

All  on  account  of  de  wife  too, 

An'   I  know  you  '11  be  sorry   'bout  dat  poor 
feller, 

I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  for  Joe  Boucher. 

Wen  May  come  along  dat  beau  garc,on 

He  's  only  gettin'  anoder  scare — 
For  he  know  by  de  smile  on  Azeel-daw 

She  got  t'ree  fine  new  baby  dere. 
Now  he  's  los'  hees  life  too, 
All  on  account  of  de  wife  too, 
An'    I  know  you  '11  be  sorry   'bout  dat   poor 

feller, 
I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  for  Joe  Boucher. 

So  he  kill  hese'f  dead,  dat  beau  garcon 

He  work  so  hard  for  de  familee, 
An'  he  say,  "Too  bad,  but  Azeel-daw, 

I  'm  sorry  she  marry  poor  man  lak  me. " 
Now  he  's  los'  hees  life  too, 
All  on  account  of  hees  wife  too, 
An'   I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  'bout  dat  poor 

feller, 

I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  for  Joe  Boucher. 
339 


CHARMETTE 

"Now  I  know  very  well  dat  all  poor  man 
He  tak'  some  chance  w'en  he  get  marie", 

•  So  he  better  look  out  all  de  bes'  he  can, 
Or  he  '11  be  ketch  lak  Joe  Boucher — 

Now  he  's  los'  hees  life  too, 

All  on  account  of  de  wife  too, 

An'  I   know   you  '11   be   sorry   'bout   dat   poor 
feller, 

I  know  you  '11  be  sorry  for  Joe  Boucher. 

Charmette 

A  WAY  off  back  on  de  mountain-side, 

Not  easy  t'ing  fin'  de  spot, 
Were  de  lake  below  is  long  an'  wide, 

A  nice  leetle  place  I  got, 
Mebbe  ten  foot  deep  by  twenty-two, 

An'  if  you  see  it,  I  bet 
You  '11  not  be  surprise  w'en  I  tole  to  you 
I  chrissen  dat  place  Charmette. 

Dat 's  purty  beeg  word,  Charmette,  for  go 

On  poor  leetle  house  so  small, 
Wit'  only  wan  chimley,  a  winder  or  so, 

An'  no  galerie  at  all — 
But  I  want  beeg  word,  so  de  worl'  will  know 

W'at  dat  place  it  was  mean  to  me, 
,An'  dere  on  de  book  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau, 

Charmette  is  de  nam'  I  see. 
340 


CHARMETTE 

O  ma  dear  Charmette!  an'  de  stove  is  dere, 

(Good  stove)  an'  de  wood-pile  too. 
An'  stretch  out  your  finger  mos'  anyw'ere, 

Dere  's  plaintee  for  comfort  you — 
You  're  hongry?  wall!  you  got  pork  an'  bean 

Mak'  you  feel  lak  Edouard  de  King — 
You  're  torsty?      Jus'    look     dere    behin'    de 
screen, 

An'  mebbe  you  fin'  somet'ing — 


Ha!     Ha!    you  got  it.     Ma  dear  Charmette. 

Dere  's  many  fine  place,  dat  's  true, 
If  you  travel  aroun'  de  worl',  but  yet 

Were  is  de  place  lak  you? 
Open  de  door,  don't  kip  it  close — 

Wat 's  air  of  de  mornin'  for? 
Would  you  fassen  de  door  on  de  win'  dat  blows 

Over  God's  own  boulevard?  *Y 


You  see  dat  lake?    Wall!  I  alway  hate 

To  brag — but  she  's  full  of  trout, 
So  full  dey  can't  jump  togeder,  but  wait 

An*  tak'  deir  chance,  turn  about — 
An'  if  you  be  campin'  up  dere  above, 

De  mountain  would  be  so  high, 
Very  off  en  de  camp  you  'd  have  to  move, 

Or  how  can  de  moon  pass  by? 


LAC  SOUCI 

It 's  wonderful  place  for  sure,  Charmette, 

An'  ev'ry  wan  say  to  me — • 
I  got  all  de  pleasure  de  man  can  get 

'Cept  de  wife  an'  de  familee — 
But  somebody  else  can  marry  ma  wife, 

Have  de  familee  too  also, 
Wat  more  do  I  want,  so  long  ma  life 

Was  spare  to  me  here  below? 

For  we  can't  be  happier  dan  we  been 

Over  twenty  year,  no  siree! 
An'  if  ever  de  stranger  come  between 

De  leetle  Charmette  an'  me, 
Den  all  I  can  say  is,  kip  out  de  way, 

For  dynamite  sure  I  '11  get, 
An'  affer  dat  you  can  hunt  all  day 

For  me  an'  ma  dear  Charmette. 


Lac  Souci 

'  I  *ALK  about  lakes !  dere  's  none  dat  lies  in 

Laurentide  mountain  or  near  de  sea, 
Wen  de  star  's  gone  off  an'  de  sun  is  risin', 

Can  touch  w'at  dey  call  it  Lac  Souci, 
Restin'  dere  wit'  de  woods  behin'  her, 

Sleepin'  dere  t'roo  de  summer  night — 
But  watch  her  affer  de  mornin'  's  fin'  her, 
An*  over  de  hill-top  shine  de  light. 
342 


LAC  SOUCI 

See  w'ere  de  shadder  sweep  de  water, 

Pine  tree  an'  cloud,  how  dey  come  an'  go; 
Careful  now,  an'  you  '11  see  de  otter 

Slidin'  into  de  pool  below — 
Look  at  de  loon  w'en  de  breeze  is  ketch  heem 

Shakin'  hese'f  as  he  cock  de  eye! 
Takes  a  nice  leetle  win'  to  fetch  heem, 

So  he  's  gettin'  a  chance  to  fly. 


Every  bird  dey  mus'  kip  behin'  heem 

W'en  he  's  only  jus*  flap  de  wing, 
Ah!  dere  he  's  goin' — but  never  min'  heem, 

For  lissen  de  robin  begin  to  sing — 
Trout 's  comin'  up  too ! — dat  's  beeg  rise  dere,. 

Four  of  dem !     Golly !  it 's  purty  hard  case, 
No  rod  here,  an'  dey  're  all  good  size  dere ! 

Don't  ax  me  not'ing  about  de  place. 


No  use  nobody  goin'  murder 

T'ree  an'  four  pounder  lak  dat,  siree! 
Wall!  if  you  promise  it  won't  go  furder 

I  '11    tole     you    nex'      summer — bimeby — 

mebbe — 
W'at  is  dat  movin'  among  de  spruce  dere? 

Sure  as  I  'm  livin'  dere  's  'noder  wan  too — 
Offen  enough  I  'm  gettin'  a  moose  dere, 

Non ! — It  's  only  a  couple  of  caribou. 
343 


LAC  SOUCI 

Black  duck  so  early?     See  how  dey  all  come, 

Wan  leetle  family  roun'  de  ben' — 
Let  dem  enjoy  it,  wait  till  de  fall  come, 

Dey  won't  be  feelin'  so  happy  den! 
Smoke  on  de  mountain?     Yass,  I  can  smell  her- 

Who  is  it  now,  Jean  Bateese  Boucher? 
•Geev'  me  some  tam,  an'  I  '11  feex  dat  feller 

Shootin'  de  moose  on  de  summer  day. 


Wat  do  you  t'ink  of  a  sapree  beaver 

Kittin'  hees  tail  on  de  lake  dat  way? 
Ought  to  be  home  wit'  hees  wife — not  leave 
her 

Workin'  away  on  de  house  all  day — 
Punny  t'ing,  too,  how  he  alway  fin'  me 

Sailin'  along  on  de  ole  canoe, 
Lookin'  for  sign — den  bang!  behin'  me 

An'  down  on  de  water — dat  's  w'at  he  do. 


Otter  feeshin'  an'  bob  cat  cryin' — 

Up  on  de  sky  de  beeg  black  hawk — 
Down  on  de  swamp  w'cre  a  dead  log  's  lyin', 

Pa'tridge  doin'  hees  own  cake-walk! 
If  you  never  was  seen  dem,  hear  dem — 

Tak'  leetle  tour  on  de  Lac  Souci, 
An'  w'enever  you  're  comin'  near  dem, 

You  're  goin'  crazy  de  sam'  as  me. 
344 


POIRIER'S  ROOSTER 

Talk  about  lakes  of  every  nation, 

Talk  about  water  of  any  kin', 
Don't  matter  you  go  over  all  creation — 

De  Lac  Souci  she  can  beat  dem  blin'. 
Happy  to  leev  an'  happy  to  die  dere — 

But  Heaven  itself  won't  satisfy  me, 
Till  I  fin'  leetle  hole  off  on  de  sky  dere 

Were  I  can  be  lookin'  on  Lac  Souci ! 

Poirier's  Rooster 

4  \\7  'AT  's  dat?  de  ole  man  gone,  you  say 

Wall!  Wall!  he  mus'  be  sick, 
For  w'en  he  pass  de  oder  day, 

He  walk  along  widout  de  stick, 
Lak  twenty  year  or  so — 
Fine  healt'y  man,  ole  Telesphore, 
I  never  see  heem  sick  before, 
Some  rheumateez,  but  not'ing  more — 
Please  tell  me  how  he  go. " 

You  're  right,  no  common  t'ing  for  sure 

Is  kill  heem  lak  de  res' ; 
No  sir!  de  man  was  voyageur 

Upon  de  Grande  Nor'  Wes' 
Until  he  settle  here 
Is  not  de  feller  's  goin'  die 
Before  he  's  ready  by  an'  bye, 
So  if  you  want  de  reason  w'y 

I  '11  tell  you,  never  fear. 
345 


POIRIER'S  ROOSTER 

You  know  how  moche  he  lak  to  spik 

An'  tole  us  ev'ryt'ing  about 
De  way  de  French  can  alway  lick 

An'  pull  de  w'ole  worl'  inside  out, 
Poor  Telesphore  Cadotte ! 
He  's  knowin'  all  de  victory, 
An'  braves'  t'ing  was  never  be. 
To  hear  heem  talk  it 's  easy  see 
He  's  firse-class  patriot. 

Hees  leetle  shoe  store  ev'ry  night 

Can  hardly  hoi'  de  crowd  of  folk 
Dat  come  to  lissen  on  de  fight, 

An'  w'en  you  see  de  pile  of  smoke 
An'  hear  ole  Telesphore 
Hammer  de  boot  upon  hees  knee, 
You  t'ink  of  course  of  Chateauguay, 
An'  feel  dat  's  two,  t'ree  enemy 

Don't  bodder  us  no  more. 

But  oh!  dat  evening  w'en  he  sen' 
De  call  aroun'  for  come  en  masse, 

An'  den  he  say,  "Ma  dear  ole  frien', 
Dere  's  someting  funny  come  to  pass, 

I  lak  you  all  to  hear — • 

You  know  dat  Waterloo  affair? 

H-s-s-h !  don't  get  excite,  you  was  n't  dere 

All  quiet?     Wall!  I  '11  mak'  it  square, 
So  lissen  on  your  ear. 
346 


POIRIER'S  ROOSTER 

"  I  'm  readin'  on  de  book  to-day 

Some  book,  dey  say,  was  guarantee), 
An'  half  a  dollar  too  I  pay, 

But  cheap,  because  it  's  tellin'  me 
De  t'ing  I  'm  glad  to  know — 
Of  course  de  w'ole  worl'  understan' 
Napoleon  fight  de  bes*  he  can, 
But  he  's  not  French  at  all,  dat  man, 
But  leetle  small  Da-go. 

"Anoder  t'ing  was  mak'  it  show 
Dere  's  not'ing  new  below  de  sun, 
Is  w'en  I  'm  findin'  as  I  go — 
Dat  feller  dey  call  Welling-ton, 
He  's  English?     No  siree! 
But  only  maudit  Irlandais! 
(Dat 's  right!  dey  're  alway  in  de  way, 
Dem  Irish  folk),  an'  so  I  say 
I  'm  satisfy  for  me. 

"It 's  not  our  fault,  dat 's  all  explain — 
Dere  's  no  use  talk  of  Waterloo, 
Not  our  affair — "  an'  off  again 
He  hammer,  hammer  on  de  shoe, 
An'  don't  say  not'ing  more, 
But  w'issle  "Madame  Isabeau," 
Good  news  lak  dat  is  cheer  heem  so — 
Den  tak'  a  drink  before  we  go, 

De  poor  ole  Telesphore! 
347 


POIRIER'S  ROOSTER 

An'  now  he  's  gone!    Wall!  I  dunno, 
Can't  say — he  's  better  off  meb-be, 
Don't  work  so  hard  on  w'ere  he  go — 
Dat  's  wan  t'ing  sure  I  'm  t'inkin' — me — 
Unless  he  los'  hees  track. 
But  w'en  dat  boy  come  rtmnin'  in 
De  leetle  shop,  an'  start  begin 
On  Poirier's  rooster,  how  he  win — 
I  lak  to  break  hees  back. 

Poor  Telesphore  was  tellin'  how 
Joe  Monferrand  can't  go  to  sleep, 

Until  he  's  kickin'  up  de  row, 

Den  pile  dem  nearly  ten  foot  deep, 

Dem  English  sojer  man — 

Can't  blame  de  crowd  dey  all  hooraw, 

For  bes'  man  on  de  Ottawaw, 

An'  geev'  free  cheer  for  Canadaw, 
De  very  bes'  dey  can. 

An'  Telesphore  again  he  start 

For  tell  de  story  leetle  more, 
Anoder  wan  before  we  part, 

W'en  bang!  a  small  boy  t'roo  de  door 
On  w'at  you  call  "full  pelt," 
Is  yellin'  till  it  reach  de  skies, 
"Poirier's  rooster  got  de  prize, 
Poirier's  rooster  got  de  prize, 

An'  win  de  Champion  belt!" 
348 


DOMINIQUE 

An'  sure  enough,  he  beat  dem  all, 

Joe  Poirier's  leetle  red  game  bird, 
On  beeges'  show  dey  have  dis  fall,- — 

De  Yankee  rooster  only  t'ird 
An'  Irish  number  two — 
We  hear  a  jump,  an'  Telesphore — 
I  never  see  de  lak  before — 
He  flap  hees  wing  upon  de  floor 
An'  cock  a  doodle  doo! 

Dat  's  finish  heem,  he  's  gone  at  las', 

An'  never  come  aroun'  again — 
We  '11  miss  heem  w'en  we  're  goin'  pas', 

An'  see  no  light  upon  de  pane — 
But  pleasure  we  have  got, 
We  '11  kip  it  on  de  memory  yet, 
An'  dough  of  course  we  '11  offen  fret, 
Dere  's  wan  t'ing  sure,  we  '11  not  forget 
Poor  Telesphore  Cadotte! 

Dominique 

*V7"OU  dunno  ma  leetle  boy  Dominique? 

Never  see  heem  runnin'  roun'  about  de 
place? 
'Cos  I  want  to  get  advice  how  to  lap  heem 

lookin'  nice, 

So  he  won't  be  alway  dirty  on  de  face — 
349 


DOMINIQUE 

Now  dat  leetle  boy  of  mine,  Dominique, 

If  you  wash  heem  an'  you  sen'  heem  off  to 

school, 
But  instead  of  goin'  dere,  he  was  playin'  fox 

an'  hare — 
Can  you  tell  me  how  to  stop  de  leetle  fool? 


"  I  'd  tak'  dat  leetle  feller  Dominique, 

An'  I  'd  put  heem  on  de  cellar  ev'ry  day, 
An'  for  workin'  out  a  cure,  bread  an'  water  's 

very  sure, 

You   can   bet   he  mak'    de   promise   not   to 
play!" 


Dat 's  very  well  to  say,  but  ma  leetle  Domi- 
nique 

Wen  de  jacket  we  put  on  heem  's  only  new, 
An'  he  's  goin'  travel  roun'  on  de  medder  up 

an'  down, 
Wit'  de  strawberry  on  hees  pocket  runnin' 

t'roo, 
An'  w'en  he  climb  de  fence,  see  de  hole  upon 

hees  pant, 

No  wonder  hees  poor  moder  's  feelin'  mad! 
So  if  you  ketch  heem  den,  w'at  you  want  to 

do,  ma  frien'  ? 

Tell  me  quickly  an'  before  he  get  too  bad. 
350 


DOMINIQUE 

"I  'd  lick  your  leetle  boy  Dominique, 

I  'd  lick  heem  till  he  's  cryin'  purty  hard, 
An'  for  fear  he  's  gettin'  spile,  I  'd  geev'  heem 

castor  ile, 

An'   I   would  n't  let  heem  play  outside  de 
yard." 

If  you  see  ma  leetle  boy  Dominique 

Hangin'  on  to  poor  ole  "Billy"  by  de  tail, 
Wen  dat  horse  is  feelin'  gay,  lak  I  see  heem 

yesterday, 

I  s'pose  you  t'ink  he  's  safer  on  de  jail? 
Wen  I  'm  lightin'  up  de  pipe  on  de  evenin' 

affer  work, 

An'  de  powder  dat  young  rascal 's  puttin'  in, 
It  was  makin'   such  a  pouf,   nearly  blow  me 

t'roo  de  roof — 
Wat 's  de  way  you  got  of  showin'  't  was  a  sin  ? 

"Wall!  I  put  heem  on  de  jail  right  away, 
You  may  bet  de  wan  is  got  de  beeges'  wall! 

A  honder  foot  or  so,  w'ere  dey  never  let  heem  go, 
Non!  I  wouldn't  kip  a  boy  lak  dat  at  all." 

Dat 's  good  advice  for  sure,  very  good, 
On  de  cellar,  bread  an'  water — it  '11  do, 

De  nice  sweet  castor  ile  geev'  heem  ev'ry  leetle 

w'ile, 
An'  de  jail  to  finish  up  wit'  w'en  he  's  t'roo ! 


HOME 

Ah!  ma  frien',  you  never  see  Dominique, 
Wen  he  's  lyin'  dere  asleep  upon  de  bed, 

If  you  do,  you  say  to  me,  "Wat  an  angel  he 

mus'  be, 
An'  dere  can't  be  not'ing  bad  upon  hees  head." 

Many  t'ank  for  your  advice,   an'   it  may  be 

good  for  some, 
But  de  reason  you  was  geev'  it  is  n't  very 

hard  to  seek — • 
Yass!   it 's   easy   seein'    now   w'en   de   talk   is 

over,  how 
You  dunno  ma  leetle  boy  Dominique. 

Home 

'  f~\  H !  Mother  the  bells  are  ringing  as  never 

they  rang  before, 
And  banners  aloft  are  flying,  and  open  is  every 

door, 
While  down  in   the   streets   are   thousands   of 

men  I  have  never  seen — 
But   friendly   are   all   the   faces — oh!    Mother, 

what  can  it  mean?" 

"My  little   one,"  said  the  mother,  "for  many 

long,  weary  years — 
Thro'  days  that  the  sunshine  mocked  at,  and 

nights  that  were  wet  with  tears, 
352 


HOME 


I   have   waited   and   watched   in   silence,    too 

proud  to  speak,  and  now 
The    pulse    of  my    heart    is    leaping,  for    the 

children  have  kept  the  vow. 


"And  there    they    are   coming,    coming,    the 

brothers  you  never  knew, 
But,  sightless,  my  ears  would  know  them,  so 

steady  and  firm  and  true 
Is  the  tramp  of  men  whose  fathers  trod  where 

the  wind  blows  free, 
Over  the  heights  of  Queenston,  and  willows  of 

Chateaugay. 

"For  whether  it  be  a  thousand,  or  whether  a 
single  man — 

In  the  calm  of  peace,  or  battle,  since  ever  the 
race  began, 

No  human  eye  has  seen  it — 't  is  an  undis- 
covered clime, 

Where  the  feet  of  my  children's  fathers  have 
not  stepped  and  beaten  time. 

"The  enemy  at  my  threshold  had  boasted  and 

jeered  and  cried — 

'The  pledge  of  your  offsprings'  birthright  your 
children  have  swept  aside — 
23  353 


HOME 

They  cumber  the  land  of  strangers,  they  dwell 

in  the  alien's  tent 
Till  "home"  is  a  word  forgotten,  and  "love" 

but  a  bow  unbent. 


"Planners  and  builders  of  cities   (were    ever 

such  men  as  these?), 
Counsellors,     guides,    and     moulders    of     the 

strangers'  destinies — 
Conquerors,  yet  are  they  conquered,  and  this 

is  the  word  and  sign, 
You  boast  of  their  wise  seed-sowing,  but  the 

harvest  they  reap  is  mine.' 

''Ah!  little  the  stranger  knew  me — this  mock- 
ing but  friendly  foe, 

The  youngest  mother  of  nations!  how  could 
the  stranger  know 

The  faith  of  the  old  grey  mother, — her  sorrows 
and  hopes  and  fears? 

Let  her  speak .  when  her  sons  are  tested,  like 
mine,  for  a  thousand  years! 

"Afar  in  the  dim  savanna  when  the  dawn  of 

the  spring  is  near, 
What  is  it  wakes  the  wild  goose,  calling  him 

loud  and  clear? 

354 


HOME 

What  is  it  brings  him  homeward,  battered  and 

tempest-torn? 
Are  they  weaker  than  birds  of  passage,   the 

children  whom  I  have  borne? 

"Nay!  the  streets  of  the  city  tremble  with  the 

tread  that  shakes  the  world, 
When  the  sons  of  the  blood  foregather,  and 

the  mother  flag  flies  unfurled  — 
Brothers    are    welcoming    brothers,    and    the 

voices  that  pierce  the  blue 
Answer  the    enemy's    taunting  —  and  the    chil- 

dren of  York  are  true  ! 

"Wanderers    maybe,  traitors    never!    By    the 

scroll  of  their  fathers'  lives  ! 
The  faith  of  the  land  that  bore  them,  and  the 

honor  of  their  wives  ! 
We  may  lose  them,  our  own  strong  childrenl 

blossom  and  root  and  stem  — 
But  the  cradle  will  be  remembered,  and  homo 

is  aye  home  to  them!" 

Canadian  Forever 


our  fathers  crossed  the  ocean 
In  the  glorious  days  gone  by, 
They  breathed  their  deep  emotion 
In  many  a  tear  and  sigh  — 
355 


CANADIAN  FOREVER 

Tho'  a  brighter  lay  before  them 
Than  the  old,  old  land  that  bore  them 
And  all  the  wide  world  knows  now 
That  land  was  Canada. 


So  line  up  and  try  us, 
Whoever  would  deny  us 
The  freedom  of  our  birthright 

And  they  '11  find  us  like  a  wall — 
For  we  are  Canadian — Canadian  forever 

Canadian  forever-^Canadian  over  all. 


Our  fathers  came  to  win  us 

This  land  beyond  recall — 
And  the  same  blood  flows  within  us 

Of  Briton,  Celt,  and  Gaul — 
Keep  alive  each  glowing  ember 
Of  our  sireland,  but  remember 
Our  country  is  Canadian 

Whatever  may  befall. 

So  line  up  and  try  us, 
Whoever  would  deny  us 
The  freedom  of  our  birthright 

And  they  '11  find  us  like  a  wall — 
For  we  are  Canadian,  Canadian  forever, 

Canadian  forever — Canadian  over  all. 
356 


TWINS 

Who  can  blame  them,  who  can  blame  us 

If  we  tell  ourselves  with  pride 
How  a  thousand  years  to  tame  us 

The  foe  has  often  tried — 
And  should  e'er  the  Empire  need  us, 
She  '11  require  no  chains  to  lead  us, 
For  we  are  Empire's  children — 
But  Canadian  over  all. 


Then  line  up  and  try  us, 
Whoever  would  deny  us 
The  freedom  of  our  birthright 

And  they  '11  find  us  like  a  wall — 
For  we  are  Canadian,  Canadian  forever, 

Canadian  forever — Canadian  over  all ! 


Twins 

T  CONGRATULATE  ye,  Francis, 
And  more  power  to  yer  wife — 
An'  from  Montreal  to  Kansas, 

I  could  safely  bet  my  life 
Ye  wor  proud  enough,  I  hould  ye — 

Runnin'  with  the  safety  pins 
Whin  ould  Mrs.  Dolan  tould  ye, 
"Milia  murther!  she  has  twins!" 
357 


TWINS 

Ye  might  kill  me  without  warnin' — 

Lay  me  out  there  on  the  shelf — 
For  a  sight  of  ye  that  mornin', 

Throwin'  bookays  at  yerself ! 
Faix!  ye  thought  ye  had  a  cinch  there, 

An'  begob !  so  well  ye  might, 
For  not  even  with  the  Frinch  there, 

Twins  like  thim  come  every  night ! 


Francis,  aisy  now  an'  listen 

To  yer  mother's  brother  James — 
Whin  the  twins  ye  go  to  christen, 

Don't  ye  give  thim  fancy  names — 
Irene — Edith — Gladys — Mavis — 

Cecil  Rhodes  an'  Percival — • 
If  it 's  names  like  that,  Lord  save  us ! 

Don't  live  close  to  the  canal! 


Michael  Whalen  of  St.  Lambert 

Had  a  boy  some  years  ago — 
Called  him  Clarence  Montizambert — > 

Where  he  got  it  I  dunno — • 
Monty  used  to  have  a  brother 

(He  was  Marmaduke  Fitzjames) 
Killed  himself  some  way  or  other 

Thryin'  to  pronounce  his  names! 
358 


KEEP  OUT  OF  THE  WEEDS 

Bet  was  three  times  in  a  minute, 

An'  he  thrained  hard  for  the  same, 
But  the  lad  was  never  in  it — 

Tho'  they  tell  me  he  died  game ! 
Well,  sir! — Monty  grew  the  height  of 

Fin  McCool  or  Brian  Boru — 
Truth  I  'm  tellin',  but  in  spite  of 

Ev'rything  poor  Mike  could  do — 

Divil  a  dacint  situation 

Monty  got,  but  dhrive  a  hack, 

At  the  Bona venture  station — 

'T  was  the  name  that  kept  him  back — 

Till  his  friend,  John  Reilly,  tould  him, 
"Change  the  haythen  name  for  Pat — " 

Pathrick  Joseph — now  behould  him 
Walkin'  dillygate!  think  o'  that! 

So  be  careful,  Master  Francis, 
An'  ye  '11  bless  yer  uncle  James — 

Don't  be  takin'  any  chances 

With  thim  God-forsaken  names ! 

Keep  Out  of  the  Weeds 

smarter  man  you  can  never  know 
Wen  I  was  a  boy,  dan  Pierre  Nadeau, 
An'  quiet  he  's  too,  very  seldom  talk, 
But  got  an  eye  lak  de  mountain  hawk, 
See  all  aroun'  heem  mos'  ev'ryw'ere, 
An'  not  many  folk  is  foolin'  Pierre. 
359 


KEEP  OUT  OF  THE  WEEDS 

Often  I  use  to  be  t'inkin' — me — 
How  on  de  worl'  it  was  come  to  be 
He  know  so  moche,  w'en  he  never  go 
On  college  or  school,  ole  Pierre  Nadeau, 
Feesh  on  de  reever  de  summer  t'roo, 
An'  trap  on  de  winter — dat  's  all  he  do. 

''Hi!  boy — Hi!  put  your  book  away, 
An'  come  wit'  your  uncle  Pierre  to-day, 
Ketch  hoi'  of  de  line  an'  hang  on  tight, 
An'  see  if  your  moder  won't  cook  to-night 
Some  nice  fresh  feesh  for  de  familee, " 
Many  a  tarn  he  was  say  to  me — 

An'  den  I  'm  quiet,  too  scare  to  spik, 
Wile  Pierre  he  paddle  me  down  de  crick, 
Easy  an'  nice  he  mak'  her  go 
Close  to  de  shore  w'ere  de  bulrush  grow, 
Were  de  pike  an'  de  beeg  feesh  lak  to  feed, 
Deir  nose  stickin'  out  w'ere  you  see  de  weed- 

"Lissen,  ma  boy,"  say  Pierre  Nadeau, 
"To  some  of  de  t'ing  you  ought  to  know: 
Kip  a  lookout  on  de  hook  an*  line, 
In  case  dey  're  gettin'  too  far  behin' ; 
For  it 's  purty  hard  job  know  w'at  to  do, 
If  de  reever  weed  's  ketchin'  hoi'  of  you. 
360 


KEEP  OUT  OF  THE  WEEDS 

"But  if  you  want  feesh,   you  mus'  kip  leeth 

close, 

For  dat  's  w'ere  de  beeg  feller  come  de  mos', 
Not  on  de  middle  w'ere  water  's  bare, 
But  near  to  de  rushes  over  dere. 
'Cos  dat  was  de  spot  dey  alway  feed — 
All  de  sam^-you  got  to  look  out  for  weed. 

' '  Ho !     Ho !  a  strike !  let  heem  have  it  now — 
Gosh !  ain't  he  a-kickin'  heem  up  de  row, 
Pullin'  so  hard,  never  min',  ma  son, 
Wen  he  go  lak  dat  he  was  nearly  done, 
But  he  's  all  right  now,  so  don't  be  afraid, 
Jus'  hit  heem  again  wit'  de  paddle  blade. 

"  Yass!  over  an'  over,  it 's  good  advice, 
An'  me,  I  know,  for  I  pay  de  price 
On  w'at  you  call  compoun'  interes'  too, 
For  larnin'  de  lesson  I  geev'  to  you, 
Close  as  you  lak,  but,  ma  boy,  tak'  heed 
You  don't  run  into  de  beeg  long  weed. 

"An'  by  an'  by  w'en  you  're  growin'  up, 
An'  mebbe  drink  of  de  black,  black  cup 
Of  trouble  an'  bodder  an'  dunno  w'at, 
You  '11  say  to  you'  se'f,  'Wall!  I  forgot 
De  lesson  ole  Pierre  he  know  I  need,' 
W'en  he  say  to  me,  'Boy,  look  out  for  weed' — 
361 


"For  de  worl  's  de  sam'  as  de  reever  dere, 

Plaintee  of  weed  lyin'  ev'ryw'ere, 

But  work  aroun'  or  your  life  is  gone, 

An'  tak'  some  chance  or  you  won't  get  on, 

For  if  you  don't  feesh  w'ere  de  weed  is  grow, 

You  '11  only  ketch  small  leetle  wan  or  so — 

"  Dere  's  no  use  sayin',  '  I  '11  wait  an'  see 
If  some  of  dem  feesh  don't  come  to  me, 
I  '11  stay  outside,  for  it 's  pleasan'  here, 
Were  de  water  's  lookin'  so  nice  an'  clear, ' 
Dat  's  way  you  '11  never  get  w'at  you  need — 
Keep  feeshin'  away,  but  look  out  for  weed. " 

Dat  was  de  lesson  ole  Pierre  Nadeau 
Tell  to  me  off  en,  so  long  ago — 
Poor  ole  Pierre!  an'  I  'm  tryin'  too, 
Tak'  hees  advice,  for  I  know  it 's  true, 
But  far  as  it  goes  we  're  all  de  same  breed, 
An'  it 's  not  so  easy  kip  out  de  weed. 


T)EY  call  it  de  Holy  Islan' 

W'ere  de  lighthouse  stan'  alone, 
Lookin'  across  w'ere  de  breaker  toss, 
Over  de  beeg  grey  stone; 
362 


THE  HOLY  ISLAND 

Dey  call  it  de  Holy  Islan,' 

For  wance,  on  de  day  gone  by, 

A  holy  man  from  a  far-off  Ian' 
Is  leevin'  dere,  till  he  die. 


Down  from  de  ole,  ole  people, 

Scatter  upon  de  shore, 
De  story  come  of  Fader  Jerome, 

De  pries'  of  Salvador 
Makin'  hees  leetle  house  dere, 

Wit'  only  hees  own  two  han', 
Workin'  along,  an'  singin'  de  song 

Nobody  understan'. 

"All  for  de  ship  an'  sailor 

Out  on  de  stormy  sea, 
I  mak'  ma  home, "  say  Fader  Jerome, 

"Were  de  rock  an'  de  beeg  wave  be. 
De  good  God  up  on  de  Heaven 

Is  answer  me  on  de  prayer, 
An'  bring  me  here,  so  I  '11  never  fear, 

But  foller  heem  ev'ryw'ere!" 

Lonely  it  was,  dat  islan', 
Seven  league  from  de  coas', 

An'  only  de  cry,  so  loud  an'  high, 
Of  de  poor  drown  sailors'  ghos' 
363 


THE  HOLY  ISLAND 

You  hear,  wit'  de  screamin'  sea  gull; 

But  de  man  of  God  he  go 
An'  anchor  dere,  an'  say  hees  prayer 

For  ev'rywan  here  below. 

Night  on  de  ocean  's  fallin', 

Deep  is  de  fog,  an'  black, 
As  on  dey  come,  to  deir  islan'  home, 

De  sea-bird  hurryin'  back; 
Wat  is  it  mak'  dem  double 

An'  stop  for  a  minute  dere, 
As  if  in  fear  of  a  soun'  dey  hear, 

Meetin'  dem  on  de  air? 


Sweeter  dey  never  lissen, 

Magic  it  seem  to  be, 
Hangin'  aroun'  dat  wonderful  soun', 

Callin'  across  de  sea; 
Music  of  bell  's  widin  it, 

An'  foller  it  on  dey  go 
High  on  de  air,  till  de  islan'  dere 

Of  Salvador  lie  below. 


Dat 's  w'ere  de  bell 's  a-ringin' 

Over  de  ocean  track, 
Troo  fog  an'  rain  an'  hurricane, 

An'  w'enever  de  night  is  black; 
364 


THE  HOLY  ISLAND 

Kipin'  de  vow  he  's  makin', 
Dat  's  w'at  he  's  workin'  for, 

Ringin'  de  bell,  an'  he  do  it  well, 
De  Fader  of  Salvador! 


An'  de  years  go  by,  an'  quickly, 

An'  many  a  sailor's  wife 
She  's  prayin'  long,  an'  she  's  prayin'  strong 

Dat  God  he  will  spare  de  life 
Of  de  good,  de  holy  Fader, 

Off  w'ere  de  breakers  roar, 
Only  de  sea  for  hees  companie, 

Alone  on  Salvador. 


Summer  upon  de  islan', 

Quiet  de  sea  an'  air, 
But  no  bell  ring,  an'  de  small  bird  sing, 

For  summer  is  ev'ryw'ere ; 
A  ship  comin'  in,  an'  on  it 

De  wickedes'  capitaine 
Was  never  sail  on  de  storm,  or  gale, 

From  here  to  de  worl's  en' ! 

"Geev*  me  dat  bell  a-ringin 

For  not'ing  at  all,  mon  pere ; 
Can't  sleep  at  night,  w'en  de  moon  is  bright, 

For  noise  she  was  makin'  dere. 
365 


THE  HOLY  ISLAND 

I  'm  sure  she  was  never  chrissen, 
An'  we  want  no  heretic  bell; 

Were  is  de  book?     For  you  mus'  look 
An'  see  if  I  chrissen  it  well!" 


Leevin'  heem  broken-hearted, 

For  Fader  Jerome  is  done, 
He  sail  away  wit'  de  bell  dat  day, 

Capitaine  Malcouronne; 
An'  down  w'ere  dead  man  's  lyin', 

Down  on  de  ocean  deep, 
He  sink  it  dere,  w'ile  he  curse  an'  swear, 

An'  tole  it  to  go  to  sleep. 

An'  t'ree  more  year  is  passin', 

An'  now  it  's  a  winter  night: 
Poor  Salvador,  so  bles'  before, 

Is  sittin'  among  de  fight 
Of  breaker,  an'  sea-bird  yellin', 

An'  noise  of  a  tousan'  gun, 
Wen  troo  de  fog,  lak  a  dreefin'  log, 

Come  Capitaine  Malcouronne! 


Gropin'  along  de  sea  dere, 

Wonderin'  w'ere  he  be, 
Prayin'  out  loud,  before  all  de  crowd 

Of  sailor  man  on  hees  knee; 
366 


THE  HOLY  ISLAND 

Callin'  upon  de  devil, 

"Help!  or  I  'm  gone!"  he  shout; 
"Dat  bell  it  go  to  you  down  below, 

So  now  you  can  ring  me  out. 

"To  de  open  sea,  an'  affer 

I  promise  you  w'at  I  do. 
Yass,  ev'ry  day  I  '11  alway  pray 

To  you,  an'  to  only  you — 
Kip  me  in  here  no  longer, 

Or  de  shore  I  won't  see  again!" 
T'ink  of  de  prayer  he  's  makin'  dere, 

Dat  wicked  ole  capitaine! 

An'  bell  it  commence  a-ringin', 

Quiet  at  firse,  an'  den 
Lak  tonder  crash,  de  ship  go  smash, 

An'  w'ere  is  de  capitaine? 
An'  de  bell  kip  ringin,'  ringin', 

Drownin'  de  breakers'  roar, 
An'  dere  she  lie,  w'ile  de  sea-birds  cry, 

On  de  rock  of  Salvador. 

The  Riviere  des  Prairies 

T  SEE  de  many  reever  on  de  State  an'  ev'ry- 

w'ere, 

From    Maine   to    California,    New   York   to 
Michigan, 

367 


THE  RIVIERE  DES  PRAIRIES 

An'  wan  way  an'  de  oder,  I  tell  you  I  don't 

care; 

I  travel  far  upon  dem  as  moche  as  any  man — 
But  all  de  t'ousan'  reever  I  was  never  pass 

along, 

For  w'at  dey  call  de  beauty,  from  de  moun- 
tain to  de  sea, 
Dere  's  wan  dat  I  be  t'inkin',  de  wan  w'ere  I 

belong, 

Can  beat  dem  all,  an'  easy,  too,  de  Riviere 
des  Prairies! 


Jus'  tak'  de  Hudson  Reever,  an'  de  Mississippi 

too, 
Missouri,  an'  de  res'  of  dem,  an'  oders  I  can't 

t'irik, 

Dey  're  all  beeg,  dirty  places,  wit'  de  steam- 
boat gruntin'  troo, 
An'  de  water  runnin'  in  dem  is  black  as  any 

ink, 
An'    de  noises  of  dem  reever  never  stoppin' 

night  or  day, 
An'  de  row  along  de  shore,  too,   enough  to 

mak'  you  scare; 
Not  a  feesh  is  wort'   de  eatin',   'less  you're 

starvin'  by  de  way, 

An'    you  're    feeling    purty    t'orsty    if    you 
drink  de  water  dere ! 
368 


THE  RIVIERE  DES  PRAIRIES 

So  ketch  de  han'  I  geev'  you  w'ile  I  'm  on  de 

humor  now, 
An'  I  bet  you  won't  be  sorry  w'en  you  go 

along  wit'  me, 
For  I  show  you  all  aroun'  dere,  until  you  're 

knowin'  how 
I     come    so    moche    to    brag — me — on     de 

Riveire  des  Prairies. 
It 's  a  cole  October  mornin',  an'  de  maple  leaf 

is  change 
Ev'ry  color  you  can  t'ink  of,  from  de  purple 

to  de  green; 
On  de  shore  de  crowd  of  blackbird,   an'   de 

crow  begin'  arrange 

For  de  journey  dey  be  takin'  w'en  de  nort' 
win's  blowin'  keen. 

Quick!    down    among    de    bushes! — don't    you 

hear  de  wiT   goose  cry 
An'  de  honk  de  great  beeg  gander  he  was 

makin*  up  above? 
On  de  lake  dey  call  Two  Mountain  is  de  place 

dey  're  goin'  fly, 
But   only   spen'    de   night-tam,    for    dey  're 

alway  on  de  move; 
Jus'  see  de  shadder  dancin'  up  an'  down,  up 

an'  down, 

You  t'ink  dcm  geese  was  passin'  in  an'  out 
between  de  tree 

369 


THE  RIVIERE  DES  PRAIRIES 

Wen  de  branch  is  bendin'  over  on  de  water  all 

aroun' 

Now  you  see  de  place  I  'm  talkin',  dat  's  de 
Riviere  des  Prairies ! 


Missouri!     Mississippi!  better  wait  till  you  go 

back — 
No  tarn  for  talk  about  dem  w'en  dis  reever 

you  can  see, 
But  watch  de  cloud  a-sailin'  lak  a  racer  on  de 

track, 
An'   lissen  to   de  music  of   de  Riviere  des 

Prairies — 
An'  up  along  de  shore  dere,  don't  you  envy 

Bord  a  Plouffe? 
Oh!  dat's  de  place  is  lucky,  have  de  reever 

come  so  near — 
I  'm    knowin'    all    de    people,    ev'ry    chimley, 

ev'ry  roof, 
For  Bord  a  Plouffe  she  never  change  on  over 

feefty  year! 


St.  Martin's  bell  is  ringin',  can't  you  hear  it 

easy  now? 

Dey  're  marryin'  or  buryin'   some  good  ole 
frien'  of  me, 

370 

- 


THE  RIVIERE  DES  PRAIRIES 

I  wonder  who  it  can  be,  don't  matter  anyhow, 
So  long  as  we  're  a-lookin'  on  de  Riviere  des 

Prairies. 
Only  notice  how  de  sun  shine  w'en  he 's  comin' 

out  to  peep, 
I  'm  sure  he  's  leetle  brighter  dan  anyw'ere 

you  see, 
An'  w'en  de  fall  is  over,  an'  de  reever  's  gone 

to  sleep, 

De  w'ites'  snow  is  fallin'  on  de  Riviere  des 
Prairies ! 


I  love  you,   dear  ole  reever,  more  dan  ev'ry 

Yankee  wan; 
An'  if  I  get  de  money,  you  will  see  me  on 

de  train, 
Wit'  couple  o'  t'ousan'  dollar,  den  hooraw !  it 's 

good-bye,  John! 
You  can  kill  me  if  you  ketch  me  leavin'  Bord 

a  Plouffe  again. 
But  sometam  it  '11  happen  dat  a  feller  's  gettin' 

stop 
Because  he  's  comin'  busy  wit'  de  wife  an* 

familee — 
No  matter,  if  de  good  God  he  won't  forget  to 

drop, 

Ev'ry   day   an'    night,   hees   blessin'    on   de 
Riviere  des  Prairies! 


THE  WIND  THAT  LIFTS  THE  FOG 

The  Wind  that  Lifts  the  Fog 

/~\VER  de  sea  de  schooner  boat 
Star  of  de  Sou?  is  all  afloat, 
Many  a  fine  brave  feesherman 
Sailin'  away  for  Newfunlan' ; 
Ev'ry  feller  from  St.  Malo, 
Dem  is  de  boy  can  mak'  her  go! 
Tearin'  along  t'roo  storm  or  gale, 
Never  sparin'  an  inch  of  sail — 


Down  below  w'en  de  night  is  come, 

Out  wit'  de  bottle  an:  t'ink  of  home, 

Push  it  aroun'  till  bottle  's  drain, 

An'  drink  no  more  till  we  're  home  again, 

"Here  's  to  de  win'  dat  lif  de  fog, 

No  matter  how  she  's  blowin', 

Nort'  or  sout',  eas'  or  wes', 

Dat  is  de  win'  we  love  de  bes', 

Ev'ry  sailor  an'  young  sea  dog, 

Here  's  to  de  win'  dat  lif'  de  fog 

An'  set  de  ship  a-goin'." 


Flyin'  over  de  wave  she  go, 
Star  of  de  Sout'  from  St.  Malo, 
Never  a  tack,  before  she  ran 
Out  on  de  bank  of  Newfunlan* — 
372 


THE  WIND  THAT  LIFTS  THE  FOG 

Drop  de  anchor,  an'  let  her  down, 
Plaintee  of  comrade  all  aroun', 
Feeshin'  away  till  night  is  fall, 
Singin'  away  wit'  ev'ry  haul, 
"Here  's  to  de  win'  dat  lif  de  fog, 
No  matter  how  she  's  blowin' 
Nort'  or  sout',  eas'  or  wes', 
Dat  is  de  win'  we  love  de  bes', 
Ev'ry  sailor  an'  young  sea  dog, 
Here  's  to  de  win'  dat  lif  de  fog 
An'  set  de  ship  a-goin'. " 


Star  of  de  Sout' — did  you  see  de  light 
Steamin'  along  dat  foggy  night? 
Poor  leetle  bird !  anoder  star 
Shinin'  above  so  high  an'  far 
Dazzle  you  den,  an'  blin'  de  eye, 
Wile  down  below  on  de  sea  you  lie 
Anchor  dere — wit'  your  broken  wing 
How  could  you  fly  w'en  de  sailor  sing 
"Here  's  to  de  win'  dat  lif'  de  fog 
No  matter  how  she  's  blowin', 
Nort'  or  sout',  eas'  or  wes', 
Dat  is  de  win'  we  love  de  bes', 
Ev'ry  sailor  an'  young  sea  dog, 
Here  's  to  de  win'  dat  lif  de  fog 
An'  set  de  ship  a-goin'"? 
373 


THE  FOX  HUNT 


'  :M  all  bus'  up,  for  a  mont'  or  two, 

On  account  of  de  wife  I  got, 
Wit'  de  fuss  an'  troublesome  t'ing  she  do, 

She  's  makin'  me  sick  a  lot ; 
An'  I  'm  sorry  dat  woman  was  go  to  school 

For  larnin'  de  way  to  read, 
Her  fader  an'  moder  is  great  beeg  fool 
For  geevin'  her  more  she  need! 

'Cos  now  it 's  a  paper  ev'ry  week, 

Dollar  a  year,  no  less — 
Plaintee  o'  talkin'  about  musique^. 

An'  tell  you  de  way  to  dress; 
Of  course  dat 's  makin'  her  try  to  sing 

An'  dress,  till  it 's  easy  see 
She  's  goin'  crazy  about  de  t'ing 

Dey  're  callin' — Societee. 

Las'  week,  no  sooner  I  come  along 

From  market  of  Bonsecour, 
Dan  I  'm    seein'     right    off,    dere  's    somet'ing 
wrong, 

For  she  's  stannin'  outside  de  door 
Smilin'  so  sweetly  upon  de  face, 

Lookin'  so  nice  an'  gay — 
Anywan  t'ink  it 's  purty  sure  case 

She  marry  me  yesterday. 
374 


THE  FOX  HUNT 

Can't  wait  a  minute  till  supper  's  t'roo 

Before  she  commence  to  go — 
"Oh!  Johnnie,    dere  's   somet'ing    I   mus*    tole 
you — 

Somet'ing  you  lak  to  know — 
To-morrow  we  're  goin'  for  drive  aroun' 

An'  it  won't  be  de  heavy  load, 
Jus'  me  an'  you,  for  to  see  dem  houn' 

T'row  off  on  de  Bord  a  Plouffe  road. " 


"Denise,  if  dat  was  de  grande  affaire 

On  w'at  you  call  a  la  mode — 
Lookin'  dem  fox  dog  stannin'  dere 

T'row  off  on  de  Bord  a  Plouffe  road, 
You  can  count  me  out!"   An'  she  start  to  cry- 

"  You  know  very  well, "  she  say, 
"I  don't  mean  dat — may  I  never  die 

But  you  're  a  beeg  fool  to-day ! 


"Johnnie,  to-morrow  you  '11  come  wit'  me 

Watchin'  dem  run  de  race, 
Ketchin'  de  fox — if  you  don't,  you  see 

We  're  bote  on  de  beeg  disgrace. 
Dey  're  all  comin'  out  from  de  reever  side, 

An'  over  from  Beaurepaire, 
Seem'  de  folk  from  de  city  ride, 

An'  ev'rywan  's  sure  be  dere. " 
375 


THE  FOX  HUNT 

All  right — an'  to-morrow  dere  's  two  new  shoe, 

So  de  leetle  horse  mak'  de  show, 
Out  wit'  de  buggy :  de  new  wan  too, 

Only  get  her  ten  year  ago — 
An'  dere  on  de  road,  you  should  see  de  gang 

Of  folk  from  aroun'  de  place, 
Billy  Dufresne,  an'  ole  Champagne, 

Comin'  to  see  de  race, 


Wit'  plaintee  of  stranger  I  never  see, 

An'  some  of  dem  from  Pointe  Claire, 
All  of  dem  bringin'  de  familee, 

Wenever  dere  's  room  to  spare. 
Wonderful  sight — I-  'm  sure  you  say — 

To  see  how  Societee 
(W'atever  dat  mean?)  she  got  de  way 

Of  foolin'  de  w'ole  contree. 


Den  I  'm  heetchin'  de  horse  on  de  fence,  for 
fear 

Somebody  run  away. 
So  man  wit'  de  bugle  he  's  comin'  near, 

An'  dis  is  de  t'ing  he  say — 
44  You  see  any  fox  to-day,  ma  frien', 

Runnin'  aroun'  at  alh 
You  know  any  place  he  got  hees  den? 

For  we  lak  it  to  mak'  de  call. " 
376 


THE  FOX  HUNT 

An'  me — I  tell  heem,  "You  mus'  be  wrong, 

An'  surely  don't  want  to  kill 
De  leetle  red  fox,  about  two  foot  long, 

Dat  's  leevin'  below  de  hill; 
Jompin'  de  horse  till  he  break  hees  knee, 

Wile  spotty  dog  mak'  de  row, 
For  a  five-dollar  fox?    You  can't  fool  me — 

I  know  w'at  you  're  wantin'  now! 


"You  hear  de  story  of  ole  Belair, 

He  's  seein'  de  silver  fox 
W'enever  he  's  feeshin  de  reever  dere, 

Sneakin'  along  de  rocks. " 
But  ma  wife  get  madder  I  never  see, 

An'  say,  "Wall!  you  mus'  be  green — 
Shut  up  right  away,"  she  's  tellin'  me, 

"It 's  de  leetle  red  fox  he  mean!" 


So  me — I  say  not'ing,  but  watch  de  fun — 

An'  spotty  dog  smell  aroun' 
Till  dey  start  to  yell,  an'  quick  as  a  gun 

Ev'rywan  's  yellin',  "FounM" 
An'  de  way  dey  're  goin'  across  de  fiel', 

De  lady  in  front,  before, 
Dunno,  but  I  'm  willin'  to  bet  good  deal 

Somebody  mus'  be  sore ! 
377 


THE  FOX  HUNT 

Over  de  fence  dey  're  jompin'  now, 

Too  busy  for  see  de  gate 
Stannin'  wide  open,  an'  den  dey  plough 

Along  at  a  terrible  rate; 
All  for  de  small  red  fox,  dey  say, 

Only  de  leetle  fox, 
You  're  buyin'  for  five  dollar  any  day, 

An'  put  heem  on  two-foot  box. 


I  'm  foolish  enough,  but  not  lak  dat — • 

Never  lak  dat  at  all, 
Sam'  .as  you  see  a  crazy  cat 

Tryin'  to  climb  de  wall ; 
So  I  say  to  ma  wife,  I  'm  satisfy 

On  ev'ryt'ing  I  was  see, 
But  happy  an'  glad,  until  I  die, 

I  'm  not  on  Societee! 


Lison'  a  day  on  de  fall 's  no  joke, 

Dat 's  w'at  I  'm  tellin'  you, 
Jus'  for  de  pleasure  of  see  dem  folk 

Dress  up  on  de  howdy  do; 
So  I  'm  sorry  you  go  to  school, 

Larnin'  de  readin'  dere — 
Could  do  it  mese'f  an'  play  de  fool, 

If  money  I  got  to  spare. 
378 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT 

But  potatoes  a  dollar  a  bag, 

An'  easy  to  sell  de  load, 
Watchin'  de  houn'  to  see  heem  wag 

Hees  tail,  on  de  Bord  a  PloufiEe  road 
Foolin'  away  w'en  de  market  's  good 

For  seein'  Societee 
Chasin'  de  leetle  fox  t'roo  de  wood 

Wit'  crazy  folk! — no  siree! 

The  Great  Fight 

0  AD  luck  to  fight  on  New  Year's  night 

An'  wit'  your  neighbor  man, 
But  w'en  you  know  de  reason  w'y 

1  hit  heem  hard  on  bote  hees  eye, 
An'  kick  heem  till  he  nearly  die, 

I  t'ink  you  '11  understan'. 

If  you  could  see  ma  wife  an'  me 

At  home  on  Pigeon  Bay, 

You  'd  say,  ' '  How  nice  dey  bote  agree ! 

Dey  mus'  be  firse-class  familee 

An'  go  de  sam'  as  wan,  two,  tree, " 

I  know  dat  's  w'at  you  say. 

An'  New  Year's  Day  on  Pigeon  Bay, 
You  ought  to  see  us  den, 
Wit  parlor  feex  it  up  so  fine, 
Spruce  beer  an'  w'isky,  cake  an'  wine, 
Cigar — an'  only  very  bes'  kin' 
For  treatin'  all  our  frien'. 
379 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT 

But  on  de  las'  New  Year  is  pas' 
De  win'  begin  to  rise,. 
An'  snow  she  dreef  in  such  a  way, 
Wen  mornin'  come,  ma  wife  she  say, 
"  Dere  won't  be  many  folk  to-day, 
Or  I  '11  be  moche  surprise. ' 

We  never  see,  ma  wife  an'  me, 
So  quiet  New  Year  Day, 
But  very  h^appy  all  de  sam',  ' 
An'  talk  a  lot  about  de  tarn' 
Before  she  come  to  me,  ma  femme, 
Wile  kettle  sing  away. 


An'  as  we  talk,  de  good  ole  clock 

Go  tick,  tick  on  de  wall, 

De  cat 's  asleep  upon  de  stair, 

De  house  is  quiet  ev'ryw'ere, 

An'  Jean  Bateese,  hees  image  dere, 

Is  smilin'  over  all. 


I  buy  dat  leetle  Jean  Bateese 
On  Market  Bonsecour, 
Two  dollar  an'  your  money  down, 
He  's  fines'  wan  for  miles  aroun', 
Can  hardly  beat  heem  on  de  town, 
An'  so  I  love  heem  sure. 
.180 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT 

Wat 's  dat  I  hear,  but  never  fear, 
Dere  's  no  wan  on  de  door? 
Yass,  sure  enough,  Joe  Beliveau, 
An'  nearly  smoder  wit'  de  snow. 
Entrez!    We  're  glad  to  see  you,  Joe — 
Wy  don't  you  come  before? 


"Bonjour,  Ma-dame — Camille,  your  femme, 

She  's  younger  .ev'ry  day; 

I  hope  de  New  Year  will  be  bright, 

I  hope  de  baby  feel  all  right, 

Don't  wake  you  up  too  moche  at  night?" 

An'  dat 's  w'at  Joe  he  say. 


He  's  so  polite  it 's  only  right 

He  wish  heem  ev'ry  t'ing 

Dat 's  good  upon  de  worl'  at  all, 

An'  geev  heem  two  tree  w'at  you  call 

Dat  fancy  Yankee  stuff,  "high  ball," 

An'  den  he  start  to  sing. 


You  dunno  Joe?    Wall,  you  mus'  know 

He  's  purty  full  of  life, 

An'  w'en  he  's  goin"  dat  way — Joe, 

Mus'  tak'  heem  leetle  easy,  so 

I  don't  say  not'ing  w'en  he  go 

For  start  an'  kiss  ma  wife. 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT 

An'  up  an'  down  dey  dance  aroun' 

An'  laugh  an'  mak'  de  fun. 

For  spree  lak'  dat,  on  New  Year's  Day, 

Is  not'ing  moche  on  Pigeon  Bay, 

Beside  he  's  frien'  of  me  alway, 

An'  so  dere  's  no  harm  done. 


I  lak'  to  know  jus'  how  it  go, 
Dat  w'en  we  feel  secure 
Not'ing  at  all  is  goin'  wrong, 
An'  life  is  lak'  a  pleasan'  song, 
De  devil 's  boun'  to  come  along, 
An'  mak'  some  trouble  sure. 


For  bimeby,  Joe  cock  hees  eye, 
An'  see  poor  Jean  Bateese, 
An'  say  right  off,  "If  I  can't  show 
A  better  wan  at  home,  I  '11  go 
An'  drown  me  on  de  crick  below, " 
So  dat  's  de  en'  of  peace. 

Dis  very  day  along  de  Bay, 
Dey  tell  about  de  fight. 
Never  was  seen  such  bloody  war, 
On  Pigeon  Bay  before,  ba  gor' ! 
An'  easy  understan'  it,  for 
De  battle  las'  all  night. 
382 


THE  GREAT  FIGHT 

So  hard  we  go,  dat  me  an'  Joe 

Get  tire  soon,  an'  den 

We  bote  sit  down  an'  tak'  de  res' 

For  half  a  secon',  mebbe  less, 

An'  w'en  de  win'  come  on  our  ches', 

We  start  her  up  again. 

De  house  is  shake  lak'  beeg  eart'quake, 
De  way  we  jump  aroun', 
An'  people  living  far  away, 
Dey  lissen  hard  an'  den  dey  say, 
"It 's  all  up,  sure,  wit'  Pigeon  Bay — 
She  's  tumble  to  de  groun'." 

'T  was  bad  enough,  de  way  we  puff, 
But  w'en  de  stovepipe  fall, 
An'  all  de  smoke  begin  to  tear 
Right  t'roo  de  house,  an'  choke  de  air, 
An'  me  an'  Joe  can't  see  no  w'ere, 
Dat 's  very  wors'  t'ing  of  all. 

It 's  not  a  joke,  de  maudit  smoke — 
Dat 's  w'at  I  'm  tellin'  you — 
But  sure  enough  it  stop  de  fight; 
It 's  easy  killin'  Joe  all  right, 
But  w'at  about  de  wife  all  right 
An'  mebbe  baby  too? 
383 


VICTORIA  SQUARE— AN  IDYLL 

A  man  dat  's  brave,  should  always  save 

De  woman  she  's  hees  wife ; 

Dat 's  firse  t'ing  he  mus'  do  an'  w'en 

I  open  de  door,  Joe  's  runnin'  den, 

As  hard  as  he  can  lick,  ma  frien', 

So  all  han's  save  hees  life. 


An'  since  de  fight,  dey  're  all  polite, 

Dey  smile  an'  touch  de  hat, 

An'  say,  "I  hope  you  're  feelin'  purty  gay, 

An'  no  more  fight  on  Pigeon  Bay, 

Or  else  you  '11  kill  a  man  some  day. " 

So  w'at  you  t'ink  of  dat? 


Victoria  Square — An  Idyll 

!  we  are  a  band  of   bummers,  and  for 
many  joyous   summers 
On   the   Square   that  's   called   "Victoria"    we 

have  sported  on  the  green. 
;< Evan's  Corner"  erstwhile  knew  us,  but  the 

blooming  coppers  flew  us, 
So   we    sought    the   kind    protection    of    Her 
Majesty  the  Queen. 

Her  Majesty  the  Queen! 

Lord    bless    the    big    bronze    Statue    of    Her 
Majesty  the  Queen. 
384 


VICTORIA  SQUARE— AN  IDYLL 

Ah,  it 's  there  we  love  to  linger  till  what  time 

the  rosy  ringer 
Of    Aurora    paints    the    heavens    with    golden 

rays  serene, 
And    altho'    our   lives    are    "checkered,"    yet 

we  Ve  always  held  the  record 
For   strong   unchanging   fealty   to   the   Statue 

of  the  Queen. 

To  the  .Statue  of  the  Queen ! 
Oh!  we  're  the  Guard  of  Honor  to  the  Statue 

of  the  Queen. 

Sitting    round    the    sun-kissed    fountain,    sit- 
uate between  the  mountain 

And    the    river    gently    flowing,  oh!     't    is    a 
pleasant  scene. 

For     alternately     the     breezes     from     both 
sources  come  to  please  us, 

As  we  linger  round  the  Statue  of  Her  Majesty 
the  Queen. 

The  Statue  of  the  Queen! 

As     we    worship   round  the    Statue    of   Her 
Majesty  the  Queen. 

Like    veterans    in    the    trenches,    we    occupy 

the  benches, 
Where  we  watch  the  busy  sparrows  as  they 

nutter  round  their  nests ; 
as  385 


VICTORIA  SQUARE— AN  IDYLL 

And    the   new    wild-eyed    bacteria    we    have 
introduced,  would  weary  a 

Wyatt  Johnston,    for    he  'd    find   them    unre- 
sponsive to  his  tests. 

Unresponsive  to  his  tests! 

Oh!  we  think  we  see  them  smiling  'neath  his 
pathologic  tests. 


We  are  born  of  many  nations,  we  have  rules 
and  regulations 

Which  if  any  member  fracture,  we  arise  in  all 
our  wrath — 

Then  you   ought  to  hear  him  holler,   as   we 
seize  him  by  the  collar, 

For   well   he   knows   his   punishment   necessi- 
tates a  bath. 

Necessitates  a  bath! 

Oh!  the  agony  inflicted  by  the  order  of    the 
bath! 


Oh!  the   scientific  lacin'   we  applied  to   Billy 

Mason, 
And   submerged   him  m   the   basin   while   the 

coppers  were   away, 
And  before  the   coppers   found  him,   we  had 

very  nearly  drowned  him 
386 


MARRIAGE 

'Cause    he    wore    a    laundered    night-shirt    on 

Victoria's  Natal  Day! 

On  Victoria's  Natal  Day ! 
Tho'  he  said  he  only  donned  it  just  in  honor 

of  the  day. 

For    there  's  one  thing  we  take  pride  in    't  is 
the  shadow  we  abide  in 

Of    the    glorious    law    of   freedom,    unchange- 
abilitee ; 

Then   let   us   range  unfettered,    tho'   we   may 
be  unlettered, 

For    we     furnish     picturesqueness     and     true 
simplicitee. 

And  true  simplicitee, 

As  we  camp  around  the  Statue  of  Her  Glor- 
ious Majestee! 

Marriage 

'IPHERE  's  a  girl  at  Calabogie  an'  another 

at   the   Soo, 
An'   with   sparkin'    and   colloguin',    I  Ve  been 

foolish  with  the  two; 
But  I  'm  foolish  now  for  ever,   an'  worst  of 

all  it  come 

From  a   girl    I    thought  was  dacint  when    I 
used  to  live  at  home. 
387 


MARRIAGE 

She  could  dance  to  bate   the  fairies  that  my 

gran'mother  'ud  tell 
Over  there  in  Ireland  ha'nted  what  they 

call  the  "holy  well." 
She  was  purty  as  a  wood-duck  whin  you 

see  him  on  a  tree, 
But  so  proud  and  independint  that  she'd 

never   look  at  me. 


So    it  made  me  feel  onaisy,     an'     I    drifted 

far  away, 
An'     I   wint  to   Calabogie  a  workin'   by   the 

day. 
Of  any  kind  of  money  the  place  is  mighty 

bare, 
i^'ut  a  girl  that  took  my  fancy  happened  to 

be  livin'  there. 


Still    the    other    down    the    river — how    I  'd 

dream   of   her   at   night! 
Spite    of    all    the    times    I  'd    wish    her    gone 

completely  out  o'  sight, 
For  she  used  to  spile  the  comfort  with  the 

new  wan  that   I  had, 
An*  a  little  consolation  sure  I  needed  purty 

bad. 

388 


MARRIAGE 

Thin  the  times  begin  to  slacken,  an'  I  'm  get- 
tin'  hard  up  too, 

So  good-bye  to  Calabogie,  an'  I  started  for 
the  Soo; 

An'  the  girl  I  left  behind  me?  Lord  knows, 
it 's  hard  to  tell, 

But  another  came  between,  an'  she  liked  me 
just  as  well. 


Whin    you   speak   of   bad   luck    comin',    mine 

is  worse  nor   any   man's — 
Think  of  all  the  good  intintions  an'  with  two 

o'  thim  on  my  han's ! 
One  of  thim  at    Calabogie,  an'   the  other  at 

the  Soo, 
An'  engaged  to  both,  it 's  hard  to  say  exactly 

what  to  do. 


The  Cobalt-silver  fever  was  the  worst  that 's 

ever  known, 
An'  it  came  in  purty  handy  in  cases  like  my 

own; 
Besides  of  all  the  chances,    't  was  the  one  I 

fancied  best, 
So    I    had    to  go    prospectin'    jus'    the    same 

as  all  the  rest. 

389 


MARRIAGE 

An'  the  girls,   of  course  they  suffered,   for  I 

had  n't  time  to  write, 
Divil  a  thing  but  pick  an'  shovel,  an'  workin' 

day  an'  night, — 
Till  a  dacint  wild-cat  claim  I  sold  for  fifteen 

thousand  too — 
Now  I  sez,  "It's  all  a  toss-up — Calabogie  or 

theSoo?" 


Calabogie   won   it   aisy,    but,    the   next   thing 

that  I  heard, 
She  got  tired  o'  waitin'  for  me  whin  she  never 

got  a  word ; 
So  she  married  John  Mahaffy — "little  John" 

that  runs  the  farm, 
An'     the    only    thing    she    wished    me    was, 

"I'd   never  come   to   harm." 


An'   the  Soo  girl  done  the  same  thing — took 

a   brakesman   on   a   freight; 
An'  in  Winnipeg  they  're  livin',  so  I   come  a 

trifle  late; 
But  I  'm  not  afeared  to  visit  Calabogie  or  the 

Soo, 
For   I  Ve   tried   to    to    do   my  duty,  an'    sure 

ayther  wan  'ud  do! 
390 


MARRIAGE 

Well,  I  stood  it  for  a  little  an'  thin  home  agin 

I  wint, 
For   with   fifteen   thousand   dollars,    any   man 

should  be  contint, 
An'    the    girl    that  used    to    give  me  many  a 

beautiful  heartache, 
Sure   I   was  n't  back   a  fortnight,   till   I   seen 

her  at  a  wake. 


Quiet   now!     No   palpitation!     Watch   yerself, 

my  laddy  buck, 
Take    your    time — don't    get    excited — maybe 

you  '11   have  better  luck. 
Then  she  said  her  darlin'  mother  missed  me 

for  a  year  or  more, 
'T  would    have    saved    some    trouble    if    her 

mother  spoke  like  that  before. 


"Wan  thing    leadeth    to  another"     sez    the 

poet — dunno  who, 
But    we    purty    soon    got     married,     so    the 

prophecy   come  true; 
An'    whinever    all    my    fortune's    settled    on 

the    daughter   sure, 
Some   wan  seen  the  mother  dance  a  sailor's 

hornpipe  on   the   floor. 


WE  'RE  IRISH  YET 

It  's  no  wonder  I  'm  distracted  whin  the  two 

o'   thim   '11   say, 
"Oh!   Patrick,   mind  the  baby,   sure  you  got 

out  yesterday"  — 
Lord  forgive   me,    I  'd  be  happy  if  the  ould 

wan   only    died, 
But    she  's    healthy    as    a    tom-cat    an'    she 

could  n't  if  she  tried. 

I  suppose  I  'm  doin'   pinance  for  the  sins  of 

airly  youth, 
Tho'  I  blame  it  on  the  women  —  they  betrayed 

me  —  rthat  's  the  truth. 
But  for  all  I  know  about  thim,    't  would  have 

been   the   same  thing  too, 
With   the   girl   from   Calabogie,   or   the   other 

at  the  Soo. 

We  're  Irish  Yet 


means  this  gathering  to-night? 
What  spirit  moves  along 
The  crowded  hall,  and,  touching  light 

Each  heart  among  the  throng, 
Awakes,  as  tho'  a  trumpet  blast 

Had  sounded  in  their  ears, 
The  recollections  of  the  past, 
The  memories  of  the  years? 
392 


WE  'RE  IRISH  YET 

Oh !  't  is  the  spirit  of  the  West, 

The  spirit  of  the  Celt, 
The  breed  that  spurned  the  alien  breast, 

And  every  wrong  has  felt — 
And  still,  tho'  far  from  fatherland, 

We  never  can  forget 
To  tell  ourselves,  with  heart  and  hand, 

We  're  Irish  yet !     We  're  Irish  yet ! 


And  they  outside  the  clan  of  Conn 
Would  understand,  but  fail, 

The  mystic  music  played  upon 
The  heart-strings  of  the  Gael — 

His  ear,  and  his  alone,  can  tell 
The  soul  that  lies  within, 

The  music  which  he  knows  so  well, 

\   The  voice  of  Kith  and  Kin. 


He  hears  the  tales  of  old,  old  days 

Of  battle  fierce  by  ford  and  hill, 
Of  ancient  Senachie's  martial  lays, 

And  race  unconquered  still. 
It  challenges  with  mother's  pride 

And  dares  him  to  forget 
That,  tho'  he  cross  the  ocean  wide, 

He  's  Irish  yet!     He  's  Irish  yet! 
393 


CHIBOUGAMOU 

His  eye  may  never  see  the  blue 

Of  Ireland's  April  sky, 
His  ear  may  never  listen  to 

The  song  of  lark  on  high, 
But  deep  within  his  Irish  heart 

Are  cloisters,  dark  and  dim, 
No  human  hand  can  wrench  apart, 

And  the  lark  still  sings  for  him. 

We  Ve  bowed  beneath  the  chastening  rod, 

We  Ve  had  our  griefs  and  pains, 
But  with  them  all,  we  still  thank  God, 

The  Blood  is  in  our  veins, 
The  ancient  blood  that  knows  no  fear, 

The  Stamp  is  on  us  set, 
And  so,  however  foes  may  jeer, 

We  're  Irish  yet!     We  're  Irish  yet. 

Chibougamou 

P\ID  you  ever  see  an  air-hole  on  the  ice 

Wit'   de  smoke  a   risin'   roun'   about  it 

dere? 
De  reever  should  be  happy  w'ere  it  's  feelin* 

warm  an'   nice, 
But  she  t'ink  she  ought  to  get  a  leetle  air. 

An'  she  want  to  be  a  lookin'  on  de  sky, 

So  of  course  de  cole    win'   hit    her    on    de 
nose — 

394 


CHIBOUGAMOU 

*'I  '11    come    up    again,"    she    say,     "on    de 

spring   tarn,    bimeby, 
But  I  'm  better  now  below, "  and  off  she  goes. 

Dat  's    de  way    I    feel    mese'f  on    de   farm  a 

year  ago, 
Were     ev'ryt'ing     should     be     a     pleasan' 

dream; 
Lak  de  foolish  reever  dere,   I  'm  not   satisfy 

below, 
So  I  got  to  let  me  off  a  leetle  steam. 

Den  a  man  he  come  along  an'  he  say  to    me, 

' '  Look  here — 
Don't    you    know     that     place     dey     call 

Chibougamou 

Were   de   diamon'    lie   aroun'    like   de   mush- 
room on  de  groun', 
An'  dey  're  findin'  all  de  gole  an'  silver  too? 


"Wat's  de  use  of  stayin'  here  den?     Didn't 

Johnnie  Drutusac 

Lif  de  mor'gage  off  hees  place  an'  buy  a  cow? 
Only   gone   a   leetle   w'ile — hardly   miss   heem 

till  he  's  back; 

He 's   easy   workin'    man   too,    an'    look   at 
Johnnie  now? 

395 


CHIBOUGAMOU 

"Well    enough,    ma    frien',    you    know    I    can 

never  tell  de  lie 
Wen     I    say^  de    gole    is    eomin'    t'ousan* 

ounces  on  de  ton, 
An'  de  solid  silver  mak'  you  feel  funny  on  de 

eye, 

Lak    de   snow-blin'   on  •  de   winter  w'en.  "it 
shine  de  morning  -sun. 


"I   s'pose   you  won't  believe,  but   you  know 

dat  gravel  walk    . 
Ma    fader  got  it    facin'  on   hees    house  at 

St.  Bidou —  ' 
But  w'at  's  de  use  of  spikin',  w'at  's  de  use 

of  talk? 

Dat 's  de  way  you  see  de  diamon'  on  dat 
place  Chibougamou. 


"Course  you  got  to  go  an'  fin'  dem  quickly, 

or  de  stranger  man 
Come      along      wit'      plaintee     barrel — an* 

you  're  never  knowin'   w'en 
Couple  o'  Yankee  off  the  State,  he  was  buyin* 

all  de  Ian' ; 

Affer  dat  an'   w'ere  's  your  gole  an'   silver 
goin'  den? 

396 


CHIBOUGAMOU 

"So,  Bateese,  get  up  an'  hurry,  sell  de  farm, 

mon  chef  ami, 
Leave  de  girl  an'  bring  provision,  pork  an' 

bean,  potato  too, 
Leetle  -  w'isky,   an'   I  '11  put  heem  on  de  safe 

place  under  me' 

Wile   I  sit  an'   steer  you  off  to  dat  place 
Chibougamou. " 


Oh!  de  day  an'  night  we  're  passin',  me  dat 

never  was  before 
On   de   bush,    except   w'en   heifer   go   away 

an'   den  got  los'; 
Oh!  de  pullin'  an'  de  haulin',  till  I  'm  feelin' 

purty  sore, 

But  of  all  de  troub  an'  worry,  de  skeeter, 
he  's  de  boss. 


Beeg?  lak   de  leetle  two-mont*  robin.     Sing? 

lak   a   sawmill  on  de   spring. 
Put  de  blanket  roun'   your  body  an'   den 

he  bite  you  troo. 
Me,   I  never  tak'  hees  measure,  but  I  t'ink 

across  de  wing 

He  's    t'ree  inch  sure — dem  skeeter,   on   dat 
place  Chibougamou. 

397 

• 


CHIBOUGAMOU 

De   man   he 's   goin'    wit'    me,    never   paddle, 

never  haul, 
Jus'    smoke    an'    watch    an'    lissen    for    dat 

ole   Chibougamou ; 
I  s'pose  he  can't  be  bodder  doin'   any  work 

at  all, 

For     de     feller    tak'     you     dere    jus'    have 
not'ing  else  to  do. 


T'ousan'    mile    we    mak'    de    travel — t'ousan* 

mile   an'   mebbe  more, 
An'    I  ,do   de   foolish   prayin'    lak'    I   never 

pray  at  home, 
'Cos  I  want  a  chance  to  get  it,  only  let  me 

see  de  shore 

Of    Chibougamou    a    little    w'ile    before    de 
winter  come. 

No  use  prayin',   no  use  climbin'   on  de  beeg 

tree  ev'ry  day, 
Lookin'    hard    to   see    de   diamon',    an'   de 

silver,  an'  de  gole — 
I  can't  see  dem,  an'  de  summer  she  begin  to 

go  away, 

An'  de  day  is  gettin'  shorter,  an'  de  night 
is   gettin'    cole. 

398 


CHIBOUGAMOU 

So    I    kick   an'  raise    de   row    den,  an'  I  tole 

ma  frien'  lookout — 
Purty      quick      de      winter's      comin'      an' 

we  '11   hurry   up  an'   go; 
Never   min'    de   gole   an'    silver — diarnon'    too 

we  '11  go  widout, 

Or  de  only  wan  we  're  seem',  is  de  diamon' 
on  de  snow. 


Mebbe    good    place  w'en  you   get  dere,   w'at 

you  call  Chibougamou, 
But    if    we    never    fin'    it,   w'at 's    de    use 

dat   place  to  me? 
Tak'   de   paddle,   for  we  're  goin',   an'   mese'f 

I  '11  steer  canoe, 

For  I  'm  always  firse-class  pilot  on  de  road 
to  St.  Elie. 


Oh!    to  see  me  on    de  mornin',  an'  de  way  I 

mak'  heem  sweat, 
You  can  see  de  water  droppin'   all  aroun' 

hees  neck  an'  face; 
"Now,    Chibougamou,"    I    tell   heem,    "hurry 

up,   an'   mebbe  yet 

You  '11  have  chance  again  to  try  it  w'en  you 
leave  me  on  ma  place." 
399 


CHIBOUGAMOU 

So  we  have  a  beeg  procession,  w'en  we  pass 

on  St.  Elie, 
All  de  parish  comin'  lookin'  for  de  gole  an* 

silver  too, 
But  Louise,  she  cry  so  moche  dere,  jus'  becos 

she  's  seein'  me, 

She   forget    about   de   diamon'    on   dat   ole 
Chibougamou. 


After  all  is  gone  an'  finistf,  an'  you  mak'  a  fool 

you'  se'f, 
An'    de   worl'    is   go    agen    you,    w'at  's   de 

medicine  is  cure 
Lak  de  love  of  hones'  woman  w'en  she  geev 

it  all  herse'f? 

So   Louise  an'   me  is  happy,  no  matter  if 
we  're  poor. 


So  de  diamon'  may  be  plaintee,  lak  de  gravel 

walk  you  see 
W'en  you  're   comin'   near  de  house  of  ole 

Telesphore  Beaulieu, 
But  me,   I    got    a    diamon'  on  ma  home    on 

St.  Elie 

Can    beat    de    pil    is    lyin'    on    dat    place 
Chibougamou. 

400 


THE  FIRST  ROBIN 

The  First  Robin 

!  it's  bad  to   be  unlucky  in   ev'ryt'ing 
you   do, 
An'    worse   if  you    can't   help   it,  'cos  I  'm 

de  torteen  chile, 
An*  w'en  you  play    for  number  wan,  an*  den 

you  're  number  two, 

I  wonder  w'ere  's  de  feller  he  don't  feel  a 
lee  tie  rile? 

Few  mont'  ago  it  happen  dat  I  'm  goin'  walk 

aroun', 
Gettin'  ready  for  de  ploughin'  is  comin'  on 

de  spring, 
An'  soon  I  wait  an'  listen,  for  I  t'ink  I  hear 

de  song 

Of  de    firse,    de    early    robin,    as    he    jus' 
begin  to  sing. 

It   was   very,   very  lucky  w'en   de  firse  wan 

come  along — 
An'    you   see  upon    your  farm    dere    is    de 

place  de  robin  stop, 

Settle    down    to    feex    hees    fedder,    an'    com- 
mence to  mak'  hees  song — 
For  o'  course  it 's  always  makin'  beeg  dif- 
ference wit'  de  crop. 
26  401 


THE  FIRST  ROBIN 

So  I  sneak  aroun'  so  quiet,  t'roo  de  orchard  on 

de  hill, 
T'roo    de    fence,    along    de    crik    too,    w'ere 

de   snow   is  lyin'    yet — 
Ev'ry  kin'  o'  luck  again  me  as  I  travel  dere 

until 

Ba    de    tarn    de  job  is  finish,  golly,   I  was 
feelin'  wet! 


Wat  's    de    matter    wit'    dat    robin,    dat    he 

is  n't   comin'   here, 
'Stead    o'    goin'   half    an    acre    jus'  to    tak* 

de  luck  away? 
No   Siree! — I   don't   forgive   heem,   if  he   leev" 

a  honder  year, 

For  dere  's  hees  singin',  singin'  on  de  farm 
of  Joe  Lahaie. 


Jce   hese'f  is   sittin'   dere   too,   lookin'   happy 

on  hees  face, 
For  de  way  dat  bird  is  yellin',  is  enough  to 

scare  de  dead; 
An'     he    ax    me,  "Wat    you    doin'    sneakin* 

all  aroun'  ma  place? 

Don't  you  know  I   own  dat  robin  he  was 
singin'  overhead? 
402 


THE  FIRST  ROBIN 

"Mebbe  he  was  work  for  not'ing,   my  leetle 

boy  Louis, 
Wen    .he  's     startin'    out     dis    mornin'     for 

milkin'   on  de  cow, 
An'   he  fin'   dat  robin  flyin'  purty  near  your 

apple-tree, 

An'  he  shoo  heem  up,   an'  bring  heem  on 
de  place  you  see   heem  now. 


"Didn't  get  heem  off  too  early,   for  anoder 

minute  more 
An'   I  bet  dat  robin  's  singin'   among  your 

apple-tree ; 
But  de  boy  's  too  smart  to  let  heem,  an'  he 

scare   heem   here   before 
He   begin   to   mak'    de  music — so   dat   bird 
belong  to  me. 


"Talk  about  your  lucky  season!    Wait  an'  see 

de  wan  I  got; 
Should  n't   wonder    if    I  'm    needin'   anoder 

wagon  sure. 
How  I  wish  de  fall  would  hurry,  for  de  crop 

your  uncle  get, 

It  will  mak'  dem  all  go  crazy  on  de  market 
Bonsecours. 

403 


THE  FIRST  ROBIN 

"Me — I   lissen   many  robin,   an*   de  fines'    of 

de  crowd 
Is    de    wan    dat  's   sittin'  up    dere,    workin' 

w'at  you   call   de  charm; 
Dat 's  de  robin  for  ma  money,  he  can  holler 

out  so  loud, 

But   o'   course   de  res'   was  alway  on   some 
oder  feller's  farm. 


"Only  sorry  ma  ole  woman  isn't  comin'  here 

to  see, 
For   she   can't   help   feelin'    happy  w'en   de 

firse  bird  of  de  spring 
Mak'  hees  choice  upon  our  tree  dere,  jus'   so 

natural  an'  free, 

Non!     She    wouldn't    tak'    a    dollar    ev'ry 
tarn  dat  feller  sing." 


An'  he  sit  an'  smoke  away  dere,  Joe  Lahaie, 

an'  talk  hees  fill, 
He  's  all  right,  an'  he  don't  bodder  how  de 

res'   de   parish   go; 
Never  hear  a  man  so  foolish,  mak'  me  feelin' 

mad  until 

I  could  kill  dat  maudit   robin,  an'  Jo-seph 
Lahaie  also. 

404 


THE  FIRST  ROBIN 

An'  den  bimeby  de  summer  come  along,  but 

w'at  's  de  use 
Call  it  summer,  for  de  fine  day  is  w'at  we 

seldom  get. 
So  I  tak'  it  purty  easy,  for  de  man  mus'  be  a 

goose 

If    he    don't    kip    nice    an'  quiet,  w'en    de 
wedder  she  's  so  wet. 


But  Joe   Lahaie,   dat  feller,   he  was   t'ink  so 

moche,  ba  gum, 
About  hees  poor  ole  robin,  he  forget  about 

de  rain ; 
Ev'ry   day  you    see  heem    workin',    an'   w'en 

de  fall  is  come 

He  got  de  fines'  crop  upon  St.  Polycarpe  de 
plaine. 


An'    me — Wall!     I   could    bet    you,   w'en    de 

springtam'   melt   de   snow, 
I  '11   never   go   to   bed   unless    I  'm   sleepin' 

on  ma  pants; 
Den   w'en   I   hear   de   robin,   hoopla!   off   she 

go, 

An'    he  '11    never    lef    ma    garden,   so    I  '11 
have  anoder   chance! 
405 


BLOOM— A  SONG  OF  COBALT 

Bloom — A  Song  of  Cobalt 

!   the   blooming    cheek   of    beauty,    tho' 
it  's  full    of   many   a   peril, 
Where 's   the   miner   does  n't   love  it?   for   he 

thinks  he  knows  the  girl, 
While    the    bloomer!      Oh!    the    bloomer!    of 

emancipated  She, 

May    it    bloom    and    promptly    wither    every 
seventh   century.  • 

Oh!  the  early  bloom  of  blossom  on  the  apple 

tree  in  June, 
Is    there    mortal    having    seen   it,    can    forget 

the  picture  soon? 
And  the  wine  of  red  October  where  Falernian 

juices  flow, 
I   have   sipped   the   blooming   beaker    (in   the 

ages  long  ago!). 

Oh!    the    bloom    along    the    hill-side,    shining 

bright  among  the  trees, 
When  the  banners   of  the  autumn  are  flung 

out  to  every  breeze, 
How  it    blazes — how    it    sparkles,    and    then 

shivers  at  a  breath: 
What  is  it  when  all  is  spoken  but  the  awful 

bloom   of  death! 

406 


THE  BOY  FROM  CALABOGIE 

Oh!  I  've  watched  the  rose's  petals,  and  be- 
held the  summer  sun 

Dipping  down  behind  Olympus,  when  the 
great  day's  work  was  done; 

But  to-day  I  'm  weary,  weary  ,  and  the 
bloom  I  long  to  see, 

Is  the  bloom  upon  the  cobalt — that 's  the 
only  bloom  for  me. 

The  Boy  from  Calabogie 

11JE  was  twenty-one  in  April — forty  inches 

round  the  chest, 
A  soupler  or  a  better  boy  we  '11  never  see 

again — 
And   the   way   we   cheered   the   lad   when   he 

started  for   the  West! 

The  town  was  like  a  holiday,  the  time  he 
took  the  train 

At  Calabogie. 

"Are  ye  ever   comin'  back  with   the  fortune,. 

little  Dan, 
From  the  place  they  say  the  money  's  like 

the  leaves  upon  the  tree?" 
"If  the  minin'  boss '11  let  me,  as  sure  as  I  'm 

a  man, 

The  mother's  Christmas  turkey  won't  have 
to  wait  for  me 

At  Calabogie." 
407 


THE  BOY  FROM  CALABOGIE 

And  the  letters  he  was  writin'  to  his  mother 

from  the  West, 
Sure  ev'rybody  read  them,  and  who  could 

see  the  harm? 
Tellin'   how  he  'd  keep  the  promise  to   come 

home   and   have   a  rest; 
And    the    money    that    was    in    them  was 
enough  to  buy  a  farm 
At  Calabogie. 

What   is   it   that   makes   the   fever  leave   the 

weak  and  kill   the   strong, 
And  who  'd  'a'   thought  our   Dannie  would 

ever   come  to  this? 
When  the  Sister  had  to  raise  him,  and  say, 

"It  won't  be  long 

Till    it  's    home,    my    lad,    you  're    goin'    to 
receive  a  mother's  kiss 
At  Calabogie. " 

So  we  met  our  little  Dannie,  Christmas  morn- 
ing at  the  train, 
And  we  lifted  up   the  long-box   without   a 

word  to  say; 
Och !  such  a  boy  as   Dannie  we  '11  never  see 

again 

God  forgive  us !  't  was  n't  much  of  a  Merry 
Christmas  Day 

At  Calabogie! 
408 


THE  CALCITE  VEIN— A  TALE  OF  COBALT 

The  Calcite   Vein — A   Tale  of  Cobalt 

T  USED  to  be  leevin'  on  Bonami, 

Fines'  place  on  de  lake,  you  bet ! 
An'  dough  I  go  off  only  wance  sapree! 

I  t'ink  I  will  leev'  dere  yet ; 
Wit'  tree  growin'  down  to  de  water  side, 

Were  leetle  bird  dance  an'  sing — 
Only  come  an'  see  you  don't  shout  wit'  me 

Hooraw  for  Temiskaming ! 

But  silver  "boom"  an  de  cobalt  bloom, 

Play  de  devil  wit'  Bonami, 
So  off  on  de  wood,  we  all  mus'  go, 

Leavin'  de  familee — 
Shovel  an'  pick,  hammer  an'  drill, 

We  carry  dem  ev'ryw'ere, 
For  workin'  away  all  night  an'  day 

Till  it 's  tarn  to  be  millionaire. 

So  it  ain't  very  long  w'en  I  mak'  de  strike, 

W'at  dey  're  callin'  de  vein  cal-cite, 
Quarter  an  inch,  jus'  a  leetle  "pinch," 

But  she  is  come  all  right 
An'  widen  out  beeg:  mebbe  wan  sixteen, 

An'  now  we  have  got  her  sure; 
So  we  jump  on  our  hat  w'en  she  go  like  dat, 

Me  an'  Bateese  Couture ! 
409 


THE  CALCITE  VEIN— A  TALE  OF  COBALT 

Early  in  de  spring  we  see  dat  vein, 

Wen  de  pat-ridge  begin  to  drum, 
De  leaf  on  de  bush  start  in  wit'  a  rush, 

An'  de  skeeter  commence  to  come — 
Very  nice  time  on  de  wood  for  sure, 

If  you  want  to  be  goin'  die, 
iSkeeter  at  night  till  it 's  come  daylight, 

An'  aff er  dat,  small  black  fly ! 


'Couple  o'  gang  like  dat,  ma  frien', 

'Specially  near  de  swamp, 
.An'  hongry  too,  dey  can  bite  an'  chew, 

An'  keep  you  upon  de  jomp ; 
^But  never  you  min',  only  work  away 

So  long  as  de  vein  is  dere, 
.For  a  t'ing  so  small  don't  count  at  all, 

If  you  want  to  be  millionaire ! 


"An'  dis  is  de  price,"  Bateese  he  say, 

"T'ree  million  or  not'ing  at  all." 
.An'  I  say,  "You  're  crazy,  it 's  five  you  mean, 

An'  more  if  you  wait  till  fall. 
An1  s'pose  de  silver  was  come  along, 

An'  cobalt  she  bloom  an'  bloom, 
"We  look  very  sick  if  we  sole  too  quick, 

An'  ev'ry t'ing  's  on  de  boom." 
410 


THE  CALCITE  VEIN— A  TALE  OF  COBALT 

De  cash  we  refuse  w'en  dey  hear  de  news — 

Wen  I  t'ink  of  dat  cash  to-day, 
I  feel  like  a  mouse  on  a  great  beeg  house, 

W'en  de  familee  move  away: 
One  million,  two  million,  no  use  to  us, 

Me  an'  Bateese  Couture, 
So  we  work  away  ev'ry  night  an'  day, 

De  sam'  we  was  alway  poor. 

An'  den  one  morning  a  stranger  man, 

A  man  wit'  hees  hair  all  w'ite, 
Look  very  wise,  an'  he  's  moche  surprise 

W'en  he  's  seein'  dat  vein  cal-cite. 
An'  he  say,  "Ma  frien',  for  de  good  advice 

I  hope  you  '11  mak'  some  room — 
From  sweetheart  girl  to  de  wide,  wide  worl', 

Ketch  ev'ryt'ing  on  de  bloom. 

"Keep  your  eye  on  de  vein,  for  dere 's  many 
a  slip 

Till  you  drink  of  de  silver  cup, 
An'  if  you  're  not  goin'  to  go  'way  down, 

You  're  goin'  to  go  'way,  'way  up." 

"Now  w'at  does  he  mean?"     Bateese  he  say, 

Affer  de  ole  man  lef, 
"  Mebbe  want  to  buy,  but  he  t'ink  it 's  high, 

So  we  '11  finish  de  job  ourse'f. 
411 


THE  CALCITE  VEIN— A  TALE  OF  COBALT 

Purty  quick  too."     An'  den  hooraw! 

We  form  it  de  compagnie, 
An'  to  give  dem  a  sight  on  de  vein  cal-cite, 

We  work  it  on  Bonami. 


Can't  count  de  money  dat  's  comin'  in, 

Same  as  de  lotterie ; 
Ev'ry  wan  try,  till  bimeby 

Dere  's  not  many  dollar  on  Bonami; 
An'  de  gang  we  put  onto  de  job  right  off, 

Nearly  twenty  beside  de  cook, 
Hammer  an'  drill  till  dey  're  nearly  kill, 

An'  feller  to  watch  de  book. 


Too  many  man,  an'  I  see  it  now, 

An'  I  'm  sorry,  'cos  I  'm  de  boss; 
For  walkin'  aroun'  all  over  de  groun', 

Dat 's  reason  de  vein  get  los', 
Easy  enough  wit'  de  lantern  too, 

Seein'  dat  vein  las'  night, 
But  to-day  I  'm  out  lookin'  all  about, 

An'  w'ere  is  dat  vein  cal-cite? 


Very  curious  t'ing,  but  you  can't  blame  me, 

For  I  try  very  hard,  I  'm  sure, 
Helpin'  dem  all  till  de  vein  is  gone, 

Me  an'  Bateese  Couture; 
412 


PIERRE  LEBLANC 

So  of  course  I  wonder  de  way  she  go, 

An'  twenty  cent  too  a  share, 
An'  I  can't  understan'  dat  stranger  man 

Wat  he  mean  w'en  he  's  sayin'  dere: 

"Keep  your  eye  on  de  vein,  for  there  's  many 
a  slip 

Till  you  drink  of  de  silver  cup, 
An'  if  you  're  not  goin'  to  go  way  down 

You  're  goin'  to  go  'way,  'way  up." 

Pierre  Leblanc 

(Dedicated  to  the  Hon.  Peter  White) 

T^V'RY    State    upon    de    Union,    w'en    dey 
write  her  up  to-day, 

Have  so  many  kin'  of  story  not  many  under- 
stan' ; 

But  if  you  lissen  me  you  can  very  quickly 
see 

How   it 's   easy   t'ing   remember   de   State   of 
Michigan. 

An'  me  I  know  it 's  true,  'cos  ma  fader  tole 
me  so, 

How  dat  voyageur  dey  're  callin'   P£re   Mar- 
quette 

Come  a-sailin'  hees  canoe,  wit'  de  Injun  from 
de  Soo, 

On  de  year  so  long  ago  dat  I  forget. 
413 


PIERRE  LEBLANC 

But  wan  t'ing  I  can  say,  w'en  Marquette  is 
reach  de  shore 

Were  w'at  you  call  hees  statue  is  stickin' 
up  to-day, 

Dere 's  a  leetle  French  boy  dere  say,  "Com- 
ment ca  va,  mon  pere, 

You  been  so  long  a-comin'  I  hope  you  're 
goin'  to  stay?" 

An'  he  show  heem  safes'  place  w'ere  he  put 
hees  birch  canoe, 

An'  de  way  he  talk  an'  boss  de  Injun  man — • 

Wall,  it 's  very  easy  see  dat  between  you'  se'f 
an'  me, 

Dat   leetle   feller's   born    to   comman'. 

An'    Marquette    he 's    moche    surprise    at    de 

smart  boy  he  has   got, 
W'ere  he  come  from,   w'at 's  hees  name,   an' 

ev'ryt'ing; 
But  de  boy  he  go  ahead  feexin'  up  de  camp 

an'  bed, 

For  he  alway  treat  hees  frien'  jus'  lak  de  King. 
Marquette    he    den    fin'    out    w'at    de  leetle 

feller  know, 
An'     w'at   he   never   see,   an'     all   de   Grosse 

Point  law; 
How    it 's    mixit    up    so    moche    ev'rybody  's 

scare  to   touch, 

An'  de  nam'  he  call  hese'f  is  Pierre  Leblanc. 
414 


PIERRE  LEBLANC 

Wall,  Marquette  he  's  not  a  fool,  so  he  's  sayin* 

"Au  revoir, " 

For  leetle   Pierre   Leblanc  's  too  wide  awake- 
No  chance  discoveree,  so  far  as  he  can  see, 
Less  he  fin'  some  newer  place  upon  de  lak'. 
So     dere    he    stay    upon     de    shore,  de   leetle 

Pierre, 

An'  buil'  de  fines'  log  house  he  can  get; 
Purty  soon  he  have  a  town  on  de  place   he 

settle  down, 
An'  call  it  for  hees  frien'  M'sieu  Marquette. 


But   de  folk  he 's   bringin'   dere  fin'   it   hard 

w'en  winter  come 

An'  ev'ry  place  is  pilin'  wit'  de  snow; 
Den   who    is   volunteer   bring   de   letter   'way 

up  here, 

From  de  contree  lyin'  off  dere  down  below? 
Was  it  feller  six  foot  high  is  on  de  job, 
Carry  letter  all  de  way  from  Canadaw, 
Wit'   hees  fourteen-dog-traineau,  bangin'  t'roo 

de  ice  an'  snow? 
No  siree !     It 's  only  leetle  Pierre  Leblanc. 


But  de  way  he  treat  hees  dog  dey  say  is  very 

bad, 

Many  folk  is  talkin'  all  about  it  yet. 
415 


PIERRE  LEBLANC 

So     of     course  dey  're     comin'   back    lak     de 

racer  on  de  track, 
For    hees    dog,    dey    don't    get    not'ing    till 

dey  're  passin'   on  Marquette. 
Wall,  I  s'pose  he  's  very  poor,  Pierre  Leblanc, 
An'  de  pay  he  's  gettin'  for  it 's  purty  small, 
An'  he  got  to  eat  hese'f,  or  mebbe  he  was  lef, 
So  we  never  get  our  letter  affer  all. 


An*  den  he  start  to  grow,  an'  de  way  he  work, 

dey  say, 

For  de  folk  on  ole  Marquette  an'  all  aroun', 
Mak'     heem    very    populaire   on    de    contree 

ev'ryw'ere, 

Till  he  t'ink  he  was  de  beeges'  man  in  town. 
Den  hees  head  begin  to  swell,  'cos  ma  fader 

tole  me  so, 
An'  firse  t'ing  he  was  puttin*  on  de  beeges' 

style  he  can; 
But  he  ought  to  be  ashame  for  de  way  he 

change  hees  name 
To    Peter   White,    an'    try   to   pass   for   only 

Yankee  man. 


Mebbe    leetle    Injun  too,   can't  say    for    dat 

mese'f, 

For  he  alway  spik  sauvage  de  sam'  as  Ojibway 
416 


PIERRE  LEBLANC 

An'   w'en  he  want  to   swear  it 's   enough  to 

raise  de  hair 
To  hear  heem  sayin'   "Wabigoon  ah — goozah 

— goozah — gay. " 
An'  lak'  de  Injun,  too,  very  hard  to  tell  hees 

age, 
For    he    mus'    be    over    honder,   dough    he 's 

lookin'  forty  year; 
An'    he  's    alway  on   de  rush,  you  can't  lose 

heem  on  de  bush, 
An'  hees  eye  is  lak  de  eagle,  strong  an'  clear. 


An1  he  's  leevin'  wit'  us  now,  Pierre  Leblanc 

dit  Peter  White, 
But  we  won't  say  not'ing  more    about  hees 

name; 
Let  heem  try  it  if  he  can,  makin'  out  he  's 

Yankee  man, 
But    never    min',    for     Pierre    Leblanc    he's 

good  man.  jus'    de  sam'. 

So  if  you  want  to  know  de  State  of   Mich- 
igan, 
Very  easy  to  remember — in  case  you  might 

forget — 
Only  two  man  mak'   her  go,    'cos   ma  fader 

tole    me    so, 
An'   wan  is   M'sieu   Pierre   Leblanc,   de   oder 

Pere  Marquette. 

27  417 


SILVER  LAKE  CAMP 

Silver  Lake  Camp 

bleak    wind    sighs   thro'    the   leafless 
trees 

Like   a   spirit's   wail,   and  the   white   snow- 
flake 

Drifts    silently    down    with    the    fitful    breeze 
On  the  lonely  camp  at  Silver  Lake. 


Yet  the  ruddy  glow  of  our  camp-fire  bright, 
Not  long  ago,  when  the  fall  was  young, 

Illumined  the  gathering  shades  of  night, 

And    the    forest    rang   with    the   songs   we 
sung. 


But  the  song  is  hushed,  and  the  merry    jest 
Is  heard  no  more,   when  the  shadows  fall; 

For    gone    is    each    well-remembered    guest, 
And   the  snow  like  a  mantle   covereth  all. 


Full    oft,    while    the   bright    September   moon 
Beamed     down,     did     the     startled     camp 

awake 

From  its   slumbers   deep,   as  the  wizard  loon 
Pealed     its    wild    cry     from    the    neighbor- 
ing lake. 

418 


THE  TALE  OF  A  COCKTAIL 

But  the  loon  has  taken  his  airy  flight, 
And  far  away  neath  the  southern  cloud 

He  rests  his  wings,  while  the  Frost  King's  might, 
Has  wrapped  the  lake  in  an  icy  shroud. 

No  longer  our  light  bark  ploughs  the  wave, 
No  longer  we  tempt  the  treacherous  flood, 

No  sentinels  watch  o'er  the  old  camp,  save 
The  guardian  genii  of  the  wood. 


The  Tale  of  a  Cocktail 

DEAR  MR.  EDITOR, 

It  has  always  been  my  camping  experience  that  the 
oldest  among  us,  especially  if  he  be  a  grey-haired  pa- 
triarch, is  invariably  the  greatest  "alcoholic  tempter" 
of  the  party.  He  it  is  who  generally  paralyzes  the 
energies  of  his  more  youthful  brethren  with  the  ma- 
tutinal cocktail;  hence  my  "Tale  of  a  Cocktail": 

'T'HE  Patriarch  rose  at  the  break  of  day, 
Ere  the  mists  from  the  mountain  had 

fled  away, 
And  loudly  his  merry  roundelay, 

Rang  over  hill  and  vale: 
"Spirit  of  morn,  we  greet  thee! 
Gladly  we  rise  to  meet  thee, 
Difficult  't  is  to  beat  thee, 

Matutinal  Cocktail!" 
419 


THE  TALE  OF  A  COCKTAIL 

A  shudder  ran  thro*  the  listening  throng, 
For  many  a  time  we  had  heard  that  song, 
And  feared,  alas !  he  was  making  it  strong, 

This  sour  cocktail. 

But  the  sage  went  on  with  his  morning  lay, 
And  no  man  dared  to  utter  nay — 
Ah !  little  recked  he  what  we  might  say, 

This  Patriarch  hale. 


Thus  he  spake  with  deep  emotion: 
"Trust  me,  't  is  a  soothing  potion, 

For  your  stomach's  sake; 
To  reject  what  heaven  has  sent  us 
Is  to  be  non  compos  mentis — 
How  much  aqua  bullientis 

Will  you  take?" 


We  fell  on  our  knees  with  despairing  cry, 

And   prayed  that  for  once  he  would  pass  us 

by, 

For  we  felt  that  should  we  that  cocktail  try, 

'T  would  be  our  ruin. 

King  Canute,  't  is  written  on  history's  page, 
Endeavored  the  billows  wild  to  cage — 
'T  were  easier  task  than  restrain  the  Sage, 
Who  still  kept  brewin'. 
420 


THE  TALE  OF  A  COCKTAIL 

While  his  happy  gladsome  singing, 

Set  the  hills  and  valleys  ringing, 

We  were  kept  "ingredients"  bringing, 

Much  against  our  will: 
Lagavulin,  Angostura, 
Which  he  told  us  would  ensure  a 
Sound  digestion,  also  cure  a 

Sudden  cold,  or  stop  a  chill. 


The  hills  re-echoed  our  solemn  chant, 

"Te  morituri  salutant; 

Grant  us  some  mercy,  however  scant, 

This  awful  hour!" 

But  sterner  and  colder  his  visage  grew, 
No  pity,  alas!  the  Patriarch  knew; 
Hope  shrieking  fled  as  we  watched  him  brew 

His  cocktail  sour. 


''Let  none  escape,"  was  his  dire  command, 
"For  I  swear  to-day,  by  my  good  right  hand, 
That  all  who  refuse  their  cocktail  stand 

On  death's  cold  brink." 
The  Patriarch's  awful  accents  fell 
On  our  frightened  ears  like  a  funeral  knell, 
So  bidding,  each  other  a  last  farewell, 

We  took  our  drink. 


421 


THE  LAND  WE  LIVE  IN 

The  lusty  salmon  in  vain  may  "rise," 

The  merry  troutlets  may  gaily  play, 

But  the  green,   green  sward  where  our  white 

tent  lies 

Is  good  enough  for  us  to-day. 
For  we  're  tired — so  tired — and  weary  too, 
As  we  sink  into  dreamy  reverie, 
And  we  feel  that  our  dreams  are  not  all  true. 
The  world  is  n't  just  what  it  seems  to  be. 

The  tides  may  ebb,  and  the  tides  may  flow, 
And  the  river  gleam  in  the  valley  below, 
But  never  again  shall  we  fishing  go, 

Till  the  Sage's  hour 

Has  come, — and  he  goes  to  the  golden  shore, 
Where  we  trust  he  '11  be  happy  for  ever  more, 
But  we  fear  he  may   meet   us   at   the   door 

With  a  cocktail  sour! 


The  Land  we  Live  in  and  the  Land  we 
Left 

Written  for  the  menu  of  the  Irish  Protestant  Benevolent 
Society's  annual  dinner.     March  18,  1895. 

'IP  HE  children  of  the  Western  Gael 

Are  gathered  here  this  Patrick's  night, 
To  pledge  the  dear  old  Innisfail, 
To  drink  her  health  in  bumpers  bright. 
422 


DEER-HUNTING 

'T  is  true  we  may  not  see  her  more, 
Still  we  're  not  likely  to  forget, 
And  though  we  Ve  sought  another  shore, 
We  're  Irish  yet!    We  're  Irish  yet! 


Deer-Hunting — (By  an  Expert) 

"V7~OU  see  I  was  there  on  the  run-way, 
Just  near  where  it  enters  the  lake, 
Could  n't  get  better  place  if  I  tried  it, 
For  the  deer  would  be  certain  to  take 
To  the  water  the  moment  he  saw  it, 
And  then  I  could  pump  in  the  lead 
At  ten  or  a  dozen  yards  distance, 
Till  I  could  n't  help  killing  him  dead. 
(Oh!   't  was  great  sport!) 


(And  the  excitement !) 
There  I  sat  watching  and  waiting, 
For  maybe  an  hour  or  two, 
I  could  hear  my  poor  heart  go  a-throbbing, 
And  once,  when  a  chipmunk  drew 
Near  to  my  trembling  ambush, 
I  had  almost  pulled  trigger,  when 
He  ran  up  a  silver  birch  tree, 
And  I  saw  't  was  a  chipmunk  then. 
(But 't  was  great !) 
423 


DEER-HUNTING 

I  could  see  the  bright  leaves  of  the  autumn, 
Sprinkling  the  forest  floor, 
Each  leaf  all  bespattered  with  crimson, 
As  if  dipt  in  the  blood  of  more 
Than  a  thousand  innocent  victims. 
But,  pshaw!  't  was  the  frost  and  rain, 
So  I  said  to  myself,  "Old  fellow, 
Brace  up!    Be  a  man  again!" 
(And  I  braced.) 

Then  suddenly,  over  the  hill-side, 
Where  the  hounds  killed  a  fawn  last  year, 
An  echo  kept  ringing,  ringing, 
'T  was  the  baying  of  "Chanticleer. " 
"He  's  got  him  at  last,"  I  murmur, 
"And  the  old  dog  will  make  him  jump," 
So  my  hold  on  the  rifle  tightened, 
While  my  heart  went  thumpity- thump. 

(Holy  murder!) 

Here  he  comes  down  the  pathway, 
Good  Lord !  how  he  must  have  run ! 
But    with    "Chanty"    let   out   on   the   home- 
stretch, 

Don't  suppose  he  enjoyed  the  fun, 
Hardly  able  to  bring  his  legs  with  him. 
Well!  don't  get  excited  yet! 
Just  wait  till  he  reaches  the  water, 
Then  fill  him  before  he  gets  wet. 
424 


"HE  ONLY  WORE  A  SHAMROCK" 

Keep  still !     Why !     I  can  hear  him  breathing, 
And  now  he  has  passed  so  close, 
The  point  of  the  rifle  could  touch  him, 
And  easily  give  him  a  dose. 
Just  see  how  he  jumped  when  he  smelt  me, 
And  look  how  he  struggles  and  pants, 
But  I  '11  wait  till  he  gets  to  the  water, 
And  give  the  poor  devil  a  chance, 
(That 's  right,  is  n't  it?) 

And  now  he  has  entered  the  water, 
And  when  he  has  gone  ten  yards  or  so, 
I  bang  away,  bang !  with  the  Marlin 
Till  I  find  I  've  killed  a  doe. 
But  a  nice  little  doe  I  can  tell  you, 
Is  better  than  nothing  at  all, 
So  if  Providence  only  spares  me, 
I  '11  try  it  again  next  fall. 
(D.  V.) 

*'  He  only  Wore  a  Shamrock"  * 

TL-TE  only  wore  a  shamrock 

On  his  faithful  Irish  breast, 
Maybe  a  gift  from  his  colleen  oge, 
The  maiden  whom  he  loved  best ; 

*  Heading  Montreal  Gazette,  March  18,  1894. 

"Private  O'Grady,  87th  Regt.,  for  wearing  a  sham- 
rock in  his  buttonhole  Patrick's  Day,  was  court-mar- 
tialed." 

425 


"  HE  ONLY  WORE  A  SHAMROCK  " 

But  the  emblem  of  dear  old  Ireland, 
Tho'  worn  on  a  jacket  of  red, 
Was  the  emblem  of  rank  disloyalty, 
And  treason  most  foul,  they  said. 


Had  he  but  borne  the  heather, 

That  grows  on  the  Scottish  hills, 

A  rose  from  an  English  garden, 

Or  a  leek  from  the  Cambrian  rills, 

Then  he  might  summon  his  comrades, 

With  trumpet,  and  fife,  and  drum, 

And  march  through  the  breadth  of  England, 

Till  trumpet  and  fife  were  dumb. 

But  he  only  wore  a  shamrock, 

And  tho'  Britain's  most  gracious  Queen 

Had  pinned  her  cross  on  his  bosom, 

Yet  the  little  trefoil  of  green 

Might  not  nestle  down  beside  it, 

For  the  color,  alas!  was  banned, 

And  the  Celtic  soldier  was  made  to  feel 

That  he  trod  an  alien  land. 


Oh !  poor  little  modest  symbol, 
Of  the  glorious  Trinity, 
Rather  bloom  on  your  native  hill-side, 
Than  cross  the  dark  Irish  sea; 
426 


THE  GODBOUT 

Rather  rest  on  the  loving  bosom, 
Of  the  Mother  that  gave  you  birth, 
For  even  your  virtues  can't  chasten 
The  ungrateful  English  earth. 

The  Godbout 

!  pilgrim  from  the  Godbout' s  shore 
Where  broad  Atlantic  billows  roll, 
Speak!  hast  thou  seen  the  Commodore, 
Whose  brave  unconquerable  soul, 
Athirst  for  wilder,  fiercer  game 
Than  haunt  the  calm  Laurentian  streams, 
Burned  to  achieve  a  greater  fame, 
And  realize  his  fondest  dreams? 
Speak!  hast  thou  seen  his  grizzled  locks, 
By  ocean's  vagrant  breezes  fanned, 
Where  Weymahegan's  giant  rocks 
Keep  watch  and  ward  o'er  sea  and  land? 
Hast  seen  him  where  the  currents  lave 
Fair  Mistassini's  silver  shore, 
On  river — sea — by  land  or  wave, 
Speak!  hast  thou  seen  the  Commodore? 
The  pilgrim  spoke — while  down  his  cheek 
The  salt,  salt  tears  coursed  grievously: 

4 'Good  Sir,  I  feeble  am  and  weak, 
Yet  I  my  tale  may  tell  to  thee — 
427 


THE  GODBOUT 

I  saw  the  veteran's  wasted  form, 
That  form  we  used  to  mark  with  prider 
Lie  prostrate  mid  the  wrack  and  storm 
Of  Weymahegan's  awful  tide. 
Small  strength,  alack !  of  wind  or  limb 
Had  he  upon  that  fearful  day ; 
But,  tho'  his  eagle  eye  was  dim, 
He  still  gazed  o'er  the  hills  where  lay 
The  Laurentides,  where  he  had  spent 
So  many  happy,  happy  hours, 
Safe  from  the  storms  of  life,  content 
Amid  the  Peche's  tranquil  bowers. 
'T  was  thus  he  spoke :  '  Oh !  why  was  I 
By  youthful  traveller's  tale  beguiled 
To  quit  the  pleasant  Pe"che  and  die 
In  this  inhospitable  wild? 
What  lured  me  on  to  cast  aside 
The  simple  pleasures  of  my  youth, 
Until  I  longed  for  Godbout's  tide — 
And  cared  no  more  for  trout,  forsooth  I 
Oh !  rash  was  I  to  lend  an  ear, 
To  all  the  legends  of  the  sea, 
To  bring  my  faithful  legion  here — 
Does  this  reward  their  constancy? 
I  cannot  say,  but  this  I  know, 
That  should  I  view  the  Peche  again, 
Could  I  but  see  its  waters  flow, 
I  'd  be  the  humblest  of  the  train 
That  worships  there ;  no  more  I  'd  roam 
428 


THE  GODBOUT 

In  search  of  other  piscine  fields; 

Contented  with  my  humble  home, 

With  all  that  old  Laurentian  yields, 

I  'd  gladly  live  and  cheerful  die. ' 

But  here  his  accents  'gan  to  sink; 

He  thought  his  hour  had  come,  till  I 

Administered  a  generous  drink. 

The  Veteran  gasped,  but  when  the  flask 

He  saw — tho'  feeble  as  a  child — 

Bravely  essayed  the  pleasant  task 

Of  trying  to  empty  it,  and  smiled. 

Yes,  tho'  he  'd  almost  passed  away 

In  one  brief  moment  from  our  ken — 

Yet  wondrous  't  was  to  see  that  day 

His  rapturous  look,  as  he  smiled  again. 

New    strength    came    back    to    the    wasted 

limbs, 

The  roses  bloomed  in  his  cheek  once  more, 
And    the    sound    of    our    glad    thanksgiving 

hymns 

Rang  out  o'er  Weymahegan's  shore; 
He  prayed  us  to  pardon  his  misdeeds, 
He  wept  when  the  legion  embraced  his  neck, 
And  swore  by  the  sacred  Laurentides, 
He  'd  never  more  venture  below  Quebec. 
So  gently  we  bore  the  repentant  Chief, 
Tenderly  placed  him  that  awful  day 
On  board  of  the  gallant  ship  "  Relief" 
And  swiftly  to  westward  sailed  away.  " 
429 


DOONSIDE 

The  Pilgrim  ceased — his  mournful  task 
Was  ended  at  last,  and  all  was  well — 
Then  raised  to  his  lips  the  magic  flask, 
And  silently  bade  me  a  last  farewell. 

P^EAN 

Joy!     Joy    at    the     Pe'che — let    the    cariboo 

dance, 

Let  the  fatted  oxen  at  last  be  slain, 
Let    the    men  get  full,   and    the    bull    moose 

prance, 
For  the  Commodore  has  come  home  again ! 

Doonside 

HPO  me,  whose  paddle-blade  has  cleft 

The    wave    where    great    St.    Lawrence 
flows — • 

To  me,  whose  ears  have  heard  the  scream 
Of  eagle,  high  above  the  snows, 
Where  Fraser  darts  among  the  hills — 
What  is  this  tiny  stream  to  me? 
And  what  the  little  melody 
My  soul  with  rapture  fills, 
Like  some  old  half -forgotten  croon? 
A  cradle  song  of  long  ago — • 
A  mother's  song  so  sweet  and  low — 
Hush!     It  is  the  Boon! 
430 


THE  SPANISH  BIRD 

The  Spanish  Bird* 

HP  ELL  me,  O  bird  from  the  land  of  the  Cid 
.      Why  do  thy  tail  feathers  droop  so  low; 

Why  art  thou  mute  that  was  wont  to  bid 
Fiercest  defiance  to  every  foe? 

No  longer  thy  clarion  voice  rings  out, 
Pealing  like  thunder  from  earth  to  sky, 

Waking  the  P£che  with  thy  joyous  shout, 
Till  rival  roosters  were  forced  to  fly. 

The  Rooster  Loquacious; 

"Once  I  was  youthful  and  passing  fair, 
Captured  first  prizes  at  many  a  show, 

Could  lick  all  the  birds  ever  flew  in  air, 
And  beat  record  time  on  the  heel  and  toe. 

*'  Proud  was  I  then  of  my  martial  past, 
Vain  was  I  too  of  my  gay  topknot, 

Successful  in  war  and  skilled  in  court, 
Gallinaceous  beauties  my  favors  sought. 

"But  family  cares  when  I  settled  down 

Made  the  gallant  topknot  droop  day  by  day, 

The    white    wings    faded — my    ruddy    crown 
Disappeared,  till  those  charms  had  all  fled 
away. 

*  From  Songs  of  Old  Spain,  by  the  author  of  Hispaniola, 
or  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Rooster. 
431 


BOULE 

"  Pardon  these  tears,  by  emotion  stirred, 
But  keenest  sorrow  of  all  to  know 

Is  that  once  I  was  known  as  the  '  sacred  bird, 
And  now  they  call  me  'sacre  oiseau!'" 

Boule 

V\/'AY  back  on  de  woods  I  know  a  man, 

Was  very  good  hunter  too; 
No  bodder  at  all  to  understan' 

De  moose  an'  de  cariboo. 
An'  wedder  you  're  meetin'  heem  on  de  bush, 

Or  trampin'  de  hills  aroun', 
You  always  t'ink  he  was  sayin',  "Hush!" 

For  he  never  mak'  de  soun'. 

De  fox  w'en  he  's  seein'  dat  hunter's  track 

Jus'  shiver  hese'f  an'  go, 
An'  say,  "De  noise  dat  hunter  mak' 

Is  de  noise  of  de  fallin'  snow — 
Don't  geev  me  a  chance,  an'  dat 's  de  way 

I  pity  de  poor  ole  bear, 
Never  hear  not'ing  on  stormy  day, 

W'en  danger  is  ev'ry  w'ere." 

Is  dere  an  otter  along  de  creek, 

Or  mink  on  de  beeg  savanne, 
Don't  jomp  on  de  water  purty  quick 

W'en  he  's  hearin'  dat  hunter  man? 
432 


BOULE 

Now!  an'  w'at  's  de  reason  he  get  so  cute, 

Till  hees  luck  is  de  devil's  own? 
Wall !  it 's  only  becos'  w'en  he  mak'  de  shoot, 

He  travel  aroun'  alone. 


But  ev'ry  t'ing  change,  an'  so  I  'm  tole, 

Affer  a  long,  long  tarn, 
De  hunter  man  change,  for  he  's  comin'  ole, 

Dough  he  tell  us  he  's  jus'  de  sam' ; 
An'  bimeby  w'en  he  's  sittin'  dere 

Wan  day  on  a  tamarac  log, 
He  say  to  hese'f,  "I  wonder  w'ere 

I  can  get  me  a  leetle  dog? 

"'Nice  leetle  dog  wit'  stan'up  tail, 

Follow  me  t'roo  de  wood, 
Stick  to  me  close  along  de  trail, 

An'  me,  I  will  treat  heem  good: 
Train  heem  up  right,  an'  dere  won't  be  need 

Havin'  heem  play  de  fool." 
So  he  's  buyin'  a  dog — I  dunno  de  breed — 

An'  de  nex'  t'ing  he  call  heem  "Boule. " 


So  he  train  dat  dog  till  he  's  nearly  dead, 

Or  wishin'  hese'f  in  jail — 
W'en  to  lie  down,  never  show  hees  head, 

W'en  he  can  wag  hees  tail; 
28  433 


BOULE 

Show  heem  de  very  bes'  way  to  smell 
On  de  bush,  if  he  's  passin'  t'roo, 

An'  out  on  de  lake  he  can  do  so  well, 
He  never  upset  canoe. 

Wonderful  dog!  an*  now  an'  den, 

Affer  he  finish  up, 
He  's  takin'  heem  off  to  show  hees  frien* 

How  he  was  train  de  pup. 
"Come  along,  Boule,  kip  close  to  me, 

Steady,  an'  watch  de  groun', 
Wait  till  I  tell  you  go  an'  see 

If  anyt'ing  's  lyin'  aroun'." 

An'  to  see  heem  walk,  dat  hunter  man. 

An'  to  hear  heem  talk  also : 
"Easy,  ma  frien',  de  bes'  you  can, 

Easy,  an  nice  an'  slow. 
Dis  is  de  heart  of  de  game  countree, 

Partridge  on  ev'ry  log, 
Tranquillement !  for  de  leaf,  sapree, 

Was  never  so  dry — but  w'ere  's  de  dog? 

"Boule!  Boule!  Boule!  Boule!" 

(Den  he  would  raise  de  row!) 
"Boule!  Boule!  you  ole  fool — 

W'y  do  you  leave  me  now?" 
434 


BOULE 

"Way  on  de  right,  w'ere  de  bush  is  t'ick, 

Dere  's  a  rush,  an'  we  see  a  tail, 
Long  enough  too  to  mak'  us  sick, 

An'  a  cariboo  go  full  sail, 
Flyin'  along  wit'  de  pup  behin', 

Yellin'  hees  head  off  sure — 
Maudit !  if  dat  dog  he  was  only  mine, 

I  very  soon  work  de  cure! 


Yass !  if  to-morrow  will  ketch  nex'  wick, 

Or  ma  gran'moder  ketch  de  moon, 
He  's  gettin  some  chance  if  he  travel  quick 

For  ketchin'  heem  jus'  as  soon. 
An'  affer  he  's  scarin'  dat  cariboo, 

Back  he  was  come  encore, 
Lookin'  so  proud  of  de  job  he  do, 

An'  de  hunter  man  start  some  more. 


"  Careful  now — don't  mak'  a  noise, 

Creep  on  your  han'  an'  knee; 
Some  of  you  men  are  jus'  lak  boys 

Comin'  from  school — sapre"e. 
Don't  you  see  de  dog?  for  he's  gone  again, 

Off  to  I  dunno  w'ere" — 
An'  den  lak  a  rushin'  railway  train 

We  're  hearin'  a  beeg  moose  dere. 
435 


BOULE 

Tearin'  along  across  de  hill, 

Up  w'ere  de  pine  tree  grow, 
Poor  leetle  Boule  a'  follerin'  still, 

An'  hollerin'  as  he  go! 
Mebbe  de  hunter  's  not  gettin'  mad 

Wen  he  commence  to  say, 
"  Sorry  I  be,  but  dere  's  somet'ing  bad 

Wrong  wit'  de  dog  to-day. 

"Boule!  Boule!  Boule!  Boule!" 

(Oh,  how  he  raise  de  row!) 
"Boule!  Boule!  you  ole  fool — 

W'y  do  you  leave  me  now?" 

"Very  fine  way  to  hunt  de  wood!" 

Dat  's  w'at  we  tell  heem  den; 
"Nice  leetle  dog" — it 's  all  no  good, 

An'  he  say:  "I  dunno,  ma  frien', 
Mebbe  you  're  right — w'en  a  man  he  's  ole, 

Can't  learn  heem  a  trick  is  new, 
An'  jus'  as  soon  as  de  dog  is  sole, 

I  '11  hunt  as  I  used  to  do. " 


So  he  's  sellin'  hees  dog  on  Joe  Laflamme, 
Kip  de  toll  on  de  bridge  below, 

Never  have  dog  he  lak  de  sam', 
Dat 's  w'at  he  's  sayin',  Joe. 
436 


CAUDA  MORRHUAE 

Now  he  's  beginning  for  feelin'  well, 
Now  he  can  sleep  on  de  chair  all  day, 

For  Boule  's  commencin'  to  mak'  a  yell 
Wen  customer  's  less  dan  a  mile  away. 

Dat  's  all  right — an'  de  hunter  man 
Travel  agen  as  he  used  to  do, 

All  alone,  an'  I  understan' 
Gettin'  de  ole  tarn  luck  also. 

Cauda  Morrhuae 

ODOR  little  Tommy  Cod 

Took  his  best  fishing-rod, 
Cunningly  fashioned  of  split  bamboo; 
Likewise  his  tackle, 
Of  red  and  brown  hackle, 
To  venture  down  stream  in  his  bark  canoe. 

Tommy  had  registered, 

Solemnly,  I  have  heard, 

Promised  and  vowed,  that  ere  evening  fell 

Dore  and  speckled  trout, 

Black  bass  and  bull-pout, 

Would  cheerfully  yield  to  his  magic  spell. 

Since  time  immemorial, 
In  things  piscatorial, 

Tho'  Magog  be  famed  among  knights  of  the  rod ; 
437 


CAUDA  MORRHUAE 

Yet,  making  due  limit 
For  what  may  be  in  it, 

Little  Tommy  might    know    it    was    no    plaice 
for  Cod. 

Now,  in  the  buoyant  sea, 

There  's  so  much  buoyancy 

A  Cod  if  he  wishes  can  easily  float ; 

But  in  the  swift  Magog, 

Why,  even  a  bullfrog. 

Would  much  rudder  perch  on  the  side  of  a  boat. 

I  told  him  the  dangers 

That  all  who  are  strangers 

Might  meet  with,  in  case  they  should  venture 

below ; 

Por  the  mill-dam  's  so  turbot 
No  mortal  can  curb  it, 
As   those   who   have   tried   it   must    certainly 

know. 

O  Tommy,  take  care  of 
Your  life  and  beware  of 
The  treacherous  mill-dam  you  shortly  shall 

view! 

But  Tommy  was  vain  and 
He  quitted  the  mainland, 
And  put  out  to  sea  in  his  frail  canoe. 
438 


CAUDA  MORRHUAE 

The  craft  like  an  arrow 

Sped  down  the  long,  narrow, 

And  turbulent  channel,  where  wild  billows  rave; 

Then  past  Point  MacFarlane, 

Like  shot  from  a  marlin, 

Poor  Tommy  swept  on  to  his  watery  grave. 

When  Tom  struck  the  mill-dam, 

The  mill-dam,  the  mill-dam, 

When  Tom    struck    the    mill-dam,    he    dam'd 

the  dam'd  mill; 
Why  should  he  strike  it, 
When  there  's  nothing  like  it 
To  test  all  the  best  of  a  mariner's  skill? 

I  saw  the  craft  flounder, 

As  fiercely  around  her 

The  hungry  waves  leapt  on  the  ill-fated  prey;; 

And  each  time  they  struck  her 

Poor  Cod  cried  for  sucker, 

But  sucker  was  scarce  on  that  terrible  day. 

To  throw  in  the  river 
Some  oil  of  cod  liver, 

And  thereby  the  grim  foaming  waters  becalm. 
Was  Tom's  next  endeavor, 
But  he  found  that  his  lever 
Was  all  out  of  order,  and   not  worth  a  dam 
(mill-dam). 

439 


CAUDA  MORRHUAE 

At  last  he  went  under, 

And,  faith!   't  was  no  wonder, 

For  a   Cod  should  n't   go  where    he    does  n't 

belong; 

"Requiescat  in  pace" 
I  murmur,  in  case  he 
Should  rise  and  object  to  this  mournful  song. 


We  found  him  next  morning — 

A  sorrowful  warning; 

The    short    line    we    chartered,    and    shipped 

him    by    rail 
To  distant  Atlantic, 
By  way  of  Megantic, 
And  so  I  've  arrived  at  the  end  of  my  tail. 


440 


Index  to  Titles 

PAGB 

Autumn  Days 190 

Barbotte  (Bull-pout) 320 

Bateese  and  his  Little  Decoys 237 

Bateese,  the  Lucky  Man 144 

Bell  of  St.  Michel,  De 63 

Bloom  (A  Song  of  Cobalt) 406 

Boule 432 

Boy  from  Calabogie,  The 407 

Bruno  the  Hunter 262 

Calcite  Vein  (A  Tale  of  Cobalt) 409 

Camp  on  de  "  Cheval  Gris,"  De 98 

Canadian  Country  Doctor,  The 158 

Canadian  Forever 355 

Canadian  Magpie,  The 252 

Cauda  Morrhuae 437 

Champlain 300 

Charmette 340 

Chibougamou 394 

Child  Thoughts 235 

Corduroy  Road,  The 125 

Cur6  of  Calumette 131 

Deer-Hunting  (By  an  Expert) 423 

Devil,  The 273 

Dieudonne"  (God-Given) 272 

Doctor  Hilaire 313 

Dominique 349 

441 


INDEX  TO  TITLES 

PAGE 

DonaT  Campbell 222 

Doonside 430 

Dreams 229 

Dublin  Fusilier,  The 225 

Family  Laramie,  The 281 

First  Robin,  The 401 

Fox  Hunt,  The 374 

Getting  On 288 

•Getting  Stout 310 

Godbout,  The 427 

Grand  Seigneur,  The 80 

Great  Fight,  The 379 

"  Gun,  De  Papineau" 1 8 

Habitant,  De i 

Habitant's  Jubilee  Ode,  The 113 

Habitant's  Summer,  The 168 

"  He  Only  Wore  a  Shamrock  " 425 

Hill  of  St.  Sebastien,  The 145 

.Holy  Island,  The 362 

Home 352 

How  Bateese  Came  Home 21 

Joe  Boucher 337 

Air — "Car  si  mon  moine" 

Johnnie  Courteau 122 

Johnnie's  First  Moose 214 

Josette 335 

Keep  Out  of  the  Weeds 359 

Lac  Souci 342 

Land  We  Live  in  and  the  Land  We  Left,  The 422 

(Written  for  the  menu  of  the  Irish  Protestant 
Benevolent  Society's  annual  dinner,  March  18, 

1895-) 

Last  Portage,  The 286 

iittle  Bateese 220 

442 


INDEX  TO  TITLES 

PACK 

Little  Lac  Grenier  (Gren-Yay) 174 

Little  Mouse 210 

Log  Jam,  The 246 

Madeleine  Vercheres 192 

Marie  Louise 149 

Marriage 387 

"  Maxime  Labelle  " 42 

A  Canadian  Voyageur's  Account  of  the  Nile 

Expedition 

Meb-be 325 

Memories 49 

Mon  Frere  Camille 162 

Mon  Choual  "  Castor  " 70 

M'sieu  Smit 82 

The    Adventures    of    an    Englishman    in    the 

Canadian  Woods. 

My  Leetle  Cabane 140 

National  Policy 187 

Natural  Philosophy 297 

Nice  Leetle  Canadienne,  De 30 

Nile  Expedition,  The 42 

("Maxime  Labelle") 

Notaire  Publique,  De 39 

Old  House  and  the  New,  The 153 

Old  Pine  Tree,  The 218 

(Dedicated  to  the  St.  George  Snowshoe  Club.) 

Old  Sexton,  The 231 

Ole  Docteur  Fiset 118 

Ole  Tarn  on  Bord  a  Plouffe 75 

Oyster  Schooner,  The 137 

"  Papineau  Gun,  De" 18 

Pelang 65 

Phil-o-rum  Juneau 52 

Phil-o- Rum's  Canoe 242 

443 


INDEX  TO  TITLES 

PAGE 

Pierre  Leblanc 413 

(Dedicated  to  the  Hon.  Peter  White.) 

Poirier's  Rooster 345 

Pioneers 292 

Pride 265 

'Poleon  Dor6 32 

Pro  Patria 305 

Rainy  Day  in  Camp,  A 332 

Red  Canoe,  The 255 

Riviere  des  Prairies 367 

"  Rose  Delima,"  The 199 

Rossignol,  The- 322 

(Old  French-Canadian  Air, "  Sur  La  Montagne") 

Silver  Lake  Camp 418 

"  Snowbird,  De" 1 10 

Snubbing  (Tying-up)  the  Raft 327 

Spanish  Bird,  The 431 

Stove  Pipe  Hole,  De 104 

Strathcona's  Horse 212 

(Dedicated  to  Lord  Strathcona.) 

Tale  of  a  Cocktail,  The 419 

Twins 357 

Two  Hundred  Years  Ago 256 

Victoria  Square  (An  Idyll) 384 

Vieux  Temps,  Le 9 

Voyageur,  The 259 

We're  Irish  Yet 392 

When  Albani  Sang 91 

Wind  that  Lifts  the  Fog,  The 372 

Windigo,  The 177 

Wreck  of  the  "Julie  Plante,"  The 7 

Yankee  Families 282 


444 


Index  to  First  Lines 

PAGE 

A  long  de  road  from  Bord  a  Plouffe 273 

A  quiet  Boy  was  Joe  Bedotte 325 

A  rainy  day  in  camp!  how  you  draw  the  blankets 

closer 332 

A  stranger  might  say  if  he  see  heem  drink  till  he 

almos*  fall 313 

A  way  off  back  on  de  mountain-side 340 

Bad  luck  to  fight  on  New  Year's  night 379 

Bonjour,  M'sieu' — you  want  to  know 18 

Bord  a  Plouffe,  Bord  a  Plouffe 229 

Dat  's  very  cole  an'  stormy  night  on  Village  St. 

Mathieu 104 

De  cloud  is  hide  de  moon,  but  dere  's  plaintee  light 

above 214 

De  corduroy  road  go  bompety  bomp 125 

De  place  I  get  born  me,  is  up  de  reever i 

Dere  's  a  beeg  jam  up  de  reever. 246 

Dere  's  no  voyageur  on  de  reever  never  run  hees 

canoe  d'ecorce 131 

Dere  's  some  lak  dory,  an'  some  lak  bass 320 

Dere  's  somet'ing  stirrin*  ma  blood  to-night 259 

De  win'  is  sleepin*  in  de  pine 255 

Dey  call  it  de  Holy  Islan' 362 

Did  you  ever  see  an  air-hole  on  the  ice 394 

Dis  was  de  story  of  boy  an'  girl 149 

Donal'  Campbell — Donal'  Bane — 222 

445 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 


Eighteen,  an'  face  lak  de — w'at  's  de  good? 310 

Ev'ry  State  upon  de  Union,  w'en  dey  write  her  up 

to-day 413 

Get  along  leetle  mouse,  kick  de  snow  up  behin'  you. . .  210 

Go  easy  wit'  the  paddle,  an'  steady  wit'  de  oar 177 

Go  'way,  go  'way,  don't  ring  no  more,  ole  bell  of  Saint 

Michel 63 

He  's  alway  ketchin*  dore1,  an'  he  's  alway  ketchin' 

trout 144 

He  only  wore  a  shamrock 425 

Here  's  to  you,  Uncle  Kruger!  slainte'!  an  slainte1 

galore 225 

He  sit  on  de  corner  mos'  every  night,  ole  Phil-o-rum 

Juneau 53 

He  was  twenty-one  in  April — forty  inches  round  the 

chest 407 

Hssh !  look  at  ba-bee  on  de  leetle  blue  chair 281 

I  congratulate  ye,  Francis 357 

If  dey  're  walkin'  on  de  roadside,  an'  dey  're  bote  in 

love  togeder 292 

If  I  sole  ma  ole  blind  trotter  for  fifty  dollar  cash 272 

I  know  I  'm  not  too  young  an  ma  back  is  not  as 

straight 288 

I  know  very  well  t'  was  purty  hard  case 231 

I  lak  on  summer  ev'ning,  w'en  nice  cool  win'  is  bio  win'  75 

I  'm  bus'  up,  for  a  mont'  or  two 374 

I  'm  poor  man,  me,  but  I  buy  las'  May 70 

I  'm  sittin'  to-night  on  ma  leetle  cabane,  more  hap- 
pier dan  de  king 140 

I  'm  sleepin'  las'  night  w'en  I  dream  a  dream 286 

In  dreams  of  the  night  I  hear  the  call 190 

I  ought  to  feel  more  satisfy  an'  happy  dan  I  be. ......  145 

I  read  on  de  paper  mos'  ev'ry  day,  all  about  Jubilee . .  113 

I  see  Josette  on  de  car  to-day 335 

446 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

I  see  de  many  reever  on  de  State  an'  ev'ry  w'ere 367 

Is  it  only  twelve  mont'  I  play  de  fool 153 

I  s'pose  mos'  ev'ry  body  t'ink  hees  job  's  about  de 

hardes* 158 

I  used  to  be  leevin*  on  Bonami 409 

I  've  told  you  many  a  tale,  my  child,  of  the  old  heroic 

days 192 

Joe  Boucher  was  a  frien'  of  mine 337 

Johnnie  Courteau  of  de  mountain 122 

Jus'  as  de  sun  is  tryin'  Climb  on  de  summer  sky.. . .  322 

Las'  night  dey  're  passin',  de  golden  plover 327 

Leetle  Lac  Grenier,  she  's  all  alone 174 

"  Listen  my  child,"  said  the  old  pine  tree,  to  the  little 

one  nestling  near 218 

Ma  fader  he  spik  to  me  long  ago 265 

Mon  frere  Camille  he  was  first  class  blood 162 

Mos'  ev'rywan  lak  de  robin 252 

M'sieu  Paul  Joulin,  de  Notaire  Publique 39 

No  smarter  man  you  can  never  know 359 

Oh!  it 's  bad  to  be  unlucky  in  ev'ry t'ing  you  do.  ...  401 
"Oh!  Mother  the  bells  are  ringing  as  never  they  rang 

before" 352 

Oh !  pilgrim  from  the  Godbout's  shore 427 

Oh!  the  blooming  cheek  of  beauty,  tho'  it 's  full  of 

many  a  peril 406 

Oh!  we  are  a  band  of  bummers,  and  for  many  joyous 

summers 384 

O  I  'm  very  very  tire  Marie 237 

O  I  was  thine,  and  thou  wert  mine,  and  ours  the 

boundless  plain 212 

O  leetle  bird  dat  's  come  to  us  w'en  stormy  win'  she  's 

blowin' no 

Ole  Docteur  Fiset  of  Saint  Anicet 118 

"O  ma  ole  canoe!  w'at  's  matter  wit'  you" 242 

447 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

O  memory,  take  my  hand  to-day 235 

On  wan  dark  night  on  Lac  St.  Pierre 7 

O  Spirit  of  the  mountains  that  speaks  to  us  to-night . .  49 

Our  fader  lef  ole  France  behin',  dat  's  many  year. ...  187 

Over  de  sea  de  schooner  boat 372 

O  who  can  blame  de  winter,  never  min'  de  hard  he  's 

blowin' 168 

Pelang!  Pelang!  Mon  cher  garcon 65 

Poor  little  Tommy  Cod 437 

Talk  about  lakes !  dere  's  none  dat  lies  on  de  mountain 

side 342 

Tell  me,  O  bird  from  the  land  of  the  Cid 431 

The  bleak  wind  sighs  thro'  the  leafless  trees 418 

The  Children  of  the  Western  Gael 422 

The  Patriarch  rose  at  the  break  of  day 419 

There  's  a  girl  at  Calabogie  an'  another  at  the  Soo. . . .  387 

To  me,  whose  paddle-blade  has  cleft 430 

To  the  hut  of  the  peasant,  or  lordly  hall 80 

Two  honder  year  ago,  de  worl*  is  purty  slow 256 

Venez-ici,  mon  cher  ami,  an'  sit  down  by  me — so. . .  9 

Very  offen  I  be  t'inkin'  of  de  queer  folk  goin'roun'. . . .  297 
Victoriaw:  she  have  beeg  war,  E-gyp  's  de  nam'  de 

place — 42 

Wan  morning  de  walkin  boss  say  "  Damase  " 82 

Was  leevin'  across  on  de  State  Vermont 305 

Wat 's  all  dem  bell  a  ringin'  for,  can  hear  dem  ev'ry 

w'ere? 137 

"  W'at  's  dat?  de  ole  man  gone  you  say?" 345 

Was  workin'  away  on  de  farm  dere,  wan  morning  not 

long  ago 91 

Way  back  on  de  woods  I  know  a  man 432 

What  means  this  gathering  to-night? 392 

W'en  I  was  young  boy  on  de  farm,  dat 's  twenty 

year  ago 21 

448 


INDEX  TO  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

When  our  fathers  crossed  the  ocean 355 

"Were  '11  we  go? "  say  Pierre  de  Monts 300 

You  bad  leetle  boy,  not  moche  you  care 220 

You  can  pass  on  de  worl'  w'erever  you  lak 30 

You  can  sew  heem  up  in  a  canvas  sack 199 

You  dunno  ma  leetle  boy  Dominique 349 

You  have  never  hear  de  story  of  de  young  Napoleon 

Dore? 32 

You  'member  de  ole  log-camp,  Johnnie,  up  on  de 

Cheval  Gris 98 

You  never  hear  tell,  Marie,  ma  femme 262 

You  see  I  was  there  on  the  run-way 423 

You  s'pose  God  love  de  Yankee 282 


449 


DATE  DUE 


D£    gjj 

» 

BKDDEC    ( 

1966 

p**^ 

OC1 

2    TB7 

RFCD 

AUG  7     196 

7 

i       rcn  ' 

1  19K8 

i       rtc  s 
nHflh  FFR  2 

B  1968 

GAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  686  063     9 


